


A Crack in Everything

by some1_around



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Pepper Potts, Break Up, Budding Love, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dating, Dysfunctional Family, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hydra (Marvel), I'm Bad At Summaries, Identity Porn, M/M, Mild Smut, Natasha Romanov Feels, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Plot Twists, Protective Pepper Potts, Reunions, Romance, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Team as Family, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Torture, Vigilantism, Young Tony Stark, after the battle of New York, it's complicated - Freeform, to avoid spoilers, young Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:30:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 67,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some1_around/pseuds/some1_around
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is safe. The Avengers, led by Steve Rogers and funded by the billionaire CEO Pepper Stark, are working to keep it that way. But vigilantes are starting to become an issue, and it seems like their might be other, non-world-destroying, personal problems on the rise.</p><p>Introduce Tony Stanley, young entrepreneur genius, and Steve might just be falling in love.</p><p>But life is never that easy and not everything is as it seems. There's a looming threat on the rise, and underneath it, secrets and lies might just destroy the Avengers from within. </p><p>With new faces and terribly old ones making appearances, who is good, and who is bad, and how can you possibly tell?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hawkeye was the first to speak and break the silence. “Holy _shit_ ,” he said, looking around from his high up perch at the city street. “We got called out for _that_?”

“I know,” said Steve, stepping up from his defensive crouch. “How long did that take?”

“Five minutes,” said Widow, dropping from a building and onto the street. “Police could’ve handled it in twenty.” She sniffed disdainfully and kicked a loose rock out of her path.

“We must be loosing our rep if they call us out every time some mutant teenager lets loose their radioactive dog on Twenty-seventh Street,” said Clint with a sigh.

“Xavier knows where the kid is, I presume?” asks Banner, stepping away from the car they’d drove to the street in.

“Yes. He’ll be moved to the Academy by tomorrow,” Steve reported. “Anyone know where Thor went?”

“Stormed off grumbling about evil puppies a minute after we got here,” said Clint, dusting imaginary dirt of his shoulder. “Not like we needed him to apprehend a violent dog.”

“Coffee anyone?” asked Natasha, walking back towards the truck. “I heard that there’s a new joint around the corner with great baristas.”

There was a grumbled reply of yes and they all piled into the back, stripping off field uniform and replacing it with their casual clothes while Bruce drove them via instructions courtesy of Nat.

“It took five times longer to get dressed and get out than it took to get that fucking animal to the pound,” Clint groused, pulling off his boots. “Fury and I will be having words on what constitutes an Avengers worthy mission.”

“Everything’s been quiet for the last month,” said Natasha, already changed. “I think Fury’s more worried about what a bunch of stir crazy superheroes will do than a group with damaged pride.”

Clint stared at her for a moment. “Has he _met_ us?” he asked, earning a small smile from Natasha. “We are Avengers! Our pride is our greatest weapon!”

“We have a meeting scheduled in for next week,” Banner reported from the front seat, smiling obligingly at Clint. “I believe it’s something to do with a long term mission? Natasha?”

Natasha nodded, her orange curls bouncing around her head. “Coulson told me that much. I, personally, assume it has something to do with the growing problem of vigilantes in this city.”

“We talking our little spider infestation or something a little more robotic?” asked Steve, shaking his head.

Clint grinned. “Man, I must be rubbing off on you,” he said, bumping their shoulders together. “That almost sounded like sarcasm.”

“Both, most likely,” said Natasha, ignoring her partner. “There have been reports of them working together as of late. But Iron Man is stirring up a bit more trouble. Spider Man seems to be focusing on local criminals of the non-super type. And SHIELD knows his secret identity, so he’s less of a concern.”

“They still don’t know who Iron Man is?” asked Bruce, furrowed eyebrows visible in the rearview. “How?”

“Yeah, you’d think genius, billionaire, and well trained would leave a bull’s eye on a few peoples backs,” said Clint, picking up one of his arrows and running it over his fingers tip.

Natasha shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “It could be one person who robbed a bank to build the suit, and who was taught private lessons. Or it could be two people, one who built and funded the suit and one who flies it, or any mix of the three necessities, or it could be three people. One to fund, one to fly, one to design. SHIELD doesn’t know, so they don’t know how to attempt to track the person or persons.”

“How’d they figure out Spidey then?” asked Steve.

“Spider Man is different,” said Natasha. “He wears a skin tight suit and his voice isn’t muddled by machinery. SHIELD knew what physicality he possessed, what his voice sounded like, how tall he was, his body fat, and had an estimate on age. Because Iron Man wears a metal suit and we don’t have any real knowledge on how it works, we don’t know how much muscle – if any – it takes to fly it, how much height and weight the suit adds, or even the physical demeanor of the person, though we have a guess on that. For all we actually know, it could be Iron Woman,” she finished with a shrug.

“And why is Iron – Person more of a threat than Spider Man?” asked Steve.

Natasha shot him a look that clearly stated what a stupid question that was. Steve shifted but didn’t retract the question. “Spider Man can contain and restrain,” Natasha patiently explained. “He can move from place to place extraordinarily quickly and easily. Iron Man, among many other things, can fly and-”

“Can make very big things go _boom_ ,” finished Clint with a snort.

Natasha shot him a glare before continuing. “And on our last estimate, his suit contained enough power to level the city and everyone in it within a week,” she corrected. “We don’t know who he is or what kind of person he is, we don’t know what his goal or motive is, and we don’t have any way to keep tabs on him outside of his suit. His tech is at least quarter of a century ahead of ours and he updates every month. He is a threat, and a very powerful one at that.”           

“But he hasn’t done anything wrong,” Bruce objected, and the strain in his voice clued them all into his inner turmoil.

Natasha smiled apologetically at him. “Not that we know of,” she corrected. “Iron Man has only been a hero. But the person flying him? For all we know, he’s a bank robber. Or a murderer. SHIELD doesn’t know and that makes him a liability.”

“He flew a nuclear missile into a wormhole in space knowing he was almost certainly going to die,” said Steve flatly. They’d all been there, watching with sinking hearts after Fury reported the news that the city was going to be leveled and all their work, all their fighting had been for nothing. And then Iron Man had flown up, shouting into their hacked comms to keep fighting and he’d take care of the nuke. Steve’s heart rate had spiked as his team shook of their shock and got to work and he couldn’t stop himself. _“You know that’s a one way trip, right_?” And then Iron Man’s reply, voice sounding so young in a way that made Steve wonder how old he actually was, “ _I know, Cap. Just make sure to take care of the bugs. Don’t make it for nothing.”_ And then he’d been flying, and he’d disappeared into that hole – only to fall back out, rattling towards the earth like a commit. Hulk had caught him – strangely enough, the green guy seemed to like the ‘shiny metal bird’ more than any of his team. Steve had been about to rip the facemask off when Iron Man remained still on the ground, but a roar from Hulk had the man jerking up. He’d then offered to take them out for shawarma before seemingly remembering he couldn’t eat with the facemask on and offering them a rain check. He rocketed up after that, departing right before SHIELD arrived.

“You know that’s not true,” said Steve, words unbidden from his throat. “We all watched him sacrifice himself for everyone. Call me old fashioned, but in my day, that’s not how murderers acted.”

Natasha sighed and twisted her fingers together. “Look, it’s not me saying that whoever flies the suit is evil,” she said with a shrug. “But after the battle of New York, it’s entirely possible the pilot of the suit changed.”

“No it’s not,” Bruce interjected. “Hulk knows who Iron Man is – well, not his secret identity, but the other guy has a surprisingly good character sense.”

“Tell that to Fury and see how well it holds up,” said Clint with a snort. “’My sometimes-out-of-control alter ego likes this guy, so he’s cool.’ I’m right there with you, buddy, but I think Fury might blow a fuse at that.” Clint paused in his movement before grinning. “Actually, yeah, do tell him that. Just make sure I'm around when you do.”

Natasha skelped Clint on the back of his head. “Idiot,” she murmured. She peered out of the window. “We’re here,” she declared, and they piled out of the van, now dressed in street clothes and looking at least slightly normal. SHIELD had long since given them fake identities, so no one knew the secret identities of any of the Avengers (with the exception of Captain America, but the public only had grimy 40’s news reels to know what he looked like, so he was mostly in the clear.) In public, their names were Steve Grantson, Natalia Rushman, Clinton Batrone, Bruce Canner, and Theodor Adard. Steve was ninety percent sure whoever had come up with Thor’s code name had been far too bored with their job.

The coffee shop was small and tactful with obsidian black counters, white tiled floors, and unfinished wood furniture. The front wall was a window with a small counter running along the middle displaying the day’s specials and menus.

For a group like theirs, one that ran on coffee and b-movies, stepping into the little shop was like falling into heaven. They were blasted by the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked scones. A TV placed on the corner of the wall above a shelf of books displayed a quietly playing a seventies Clint Eastwood movie.

Clint groaned at the smell, attracting the amused smiles of a few patrons sitting on stools near the front of the shop, their expressions clearly saying that they’d reacted the same way upon entering. “This is _amazing,_ ” Clint moaned, pushing past Bruce like a small child to ogle the glass display of baked goods, his nose almost pressed against the glass.

Steve chuckled and studied the black chalkboard above the counter, pulling his wallet from his pocket. “It’s on me, guys,” he said, mouth already watering at some of the options on the board. Natasha moved to stand next to him, Bruce hanging back a little.

“Everything looks delicious,” Natasha said.

“Everything _is_ delicious.”

Steve had been so enamored by the smells and looks of the place he’d completely missed the young man behind the counter, leaning forward on one hand and smiling crookedly at them. He was wearing a tan long-sleeved shirt and a green apron, neither of which particularly suited his coloring, but he was beautiful nonetheless. He had soft brow eyes like cinnamon lattes, and hair like coffee beans, and skin the color of light milky caramel. Steve shook his head. The scent of the place had to be getting to him.

“Well then, would you recommend?” asks Natasha, grinning slyly at Steve like she knows what he’s thinking.

The barista hummed and drummed his fingers on the counter, turning to look at the board itself. “Well, I myself prefer black coffee, but you look like a caramel macchiato kind of person,” he said easily. “You’re friend with his nose in the pies would probably like the blue berry muffins – they’re freshly baked – with creamed ice coffee. You’re friend in the back would probably like our black pearl tea.” He turned to Steve and eyed the surprised soldier with a critical eye. “Hm… how about a vanilla latte with extra sugar and no foam?”

Steve blinked in surprise at the orders, and even Clint was grinning bemusedly. Only Natasha kept a straight face as she turned to them. “That sound good to you guys?” she asked, and they nodded after a confused second. “Okay, my name is Nat, Tall Blond and Handsome is Steve, Shorter Blond and less Handsome is Clint-”

“Hey!” Clint interjected objectively while the barista snickered and scribbled down the names.

Natasha kept right on, “And the one in the back is Bruce.”

“Coming right up,” said the barista, ringing everything up quickly before scampering away to make their orders.

“This is a nice place,” said Banner admiringly, looking around the room.

“It used to be a shwarma joint, but the Chitauri destroyed it,” Natasha told them. “The owners only just turned it into this little café.”

“That’s right,” the barista announced, coming back out with four cups of coffee balanced gravity defying on his arms. “Okay, one medium caramel macchiato for My Name Is, a blueberry muffin and creamed ice tea for Shorter Blond and Less Handsome, black pearl tea for The One in the Back,” he passed out the drinks, slanted penmanship marking the drinks as belonging to each person, “and lastly, vanilla latte with two pumps sugar and no foam for Tall Blond and Handsome,” he said, finally handing the drink to Steve, who blushed at the name.

Clint grinned salaciously as he took a bite of the muffin before following it quickly with a gulp of his drink. “Oh,” he moaned, pulling back and rolling his head between his shoulder blades. “That is delicious. Be a doll and get me three extra orders to go.”

“This is quite good, thank you,” Bruce agreed, but he was already edging toward the door.

“Not a doll,” said the barista, waggling his eyebrows at Clint. “I’m an action figure baby,” he crowed, looking back to Steve to grin.

“No way, so are we!” Clint declared victoriously, looking at his team like they were sharing a joke.

“Well technically only my alter ego has an active figure,” Bruce muttered dryly, taking a sip of his tea.

But the barista heard it anyway and laughed. “I need that on a t-shirt!” he declared happily, spinning around to pull three more muffins from the display chest. When he stood up he eyed Steve’s untouched drink distastefully. “You gonna drink that or can I have it?” he asked, already snatching it from Steve’s hand and taking a long drink.

Steve stared in surprise for a moment before he recollected and raised a brow. “I thought baristas were supposed to make the coffee, not steal it from the patrons?” he asked. Clint snickered when the guy pulled off from the rim of the cup with a smack and handed it back to Steve.

“You’re correct,” he declared. “Good thing I'm not a barista then,” he added with a grin. “Owed a favor to a dear, dear friend of mine.”

Clint gaped. “You make coffee this good,” he shook his cup, “and you’re not even getting _paid_ for it?”

The barista – or not – shrugged and smiled lopsidedly. “They say if you love what you do you’ll never work a day in your life,” he declared, before looking at the register and humming. He ran off their order and Steve handed him his SHIELD issue credit card – disguised, of course, as a generic one, but would work anywhere. Just as they turned to leave though, the barista grabbed Steve’s arm and spun his around – not an unimpressive feet, given Steve’s much superior height and weight to the man’s – and shoved an un-lidded coffee cup in his hand.

“On the house,” he said slyly, keeping his fingers on the cup even when Steve had a hold on it, so that their fingers were touching. “I stole your coffee. Let me make it up to you.”

He was practically purring and he was leaning far enough over the counter that his face wasn’t even half a foot from Steve’s. Steve’s eyes swept up and down the man’s figure again, noting wiry muscles and tanned skin, and smiled back. “Thank you,” he said, accepting the cup a little slower than strictly necessary, and allowing himself to remain in the man’s space for a moment more, before a sharp whistle from Clint pulled him back.

“See you around, Steve,” the barista called when Steve turned, blush devouring his face. Steve could almost hear the easy smile in the man’s words.

“Have a good afternoon,” Steve got out before rushing out of the store after his team, who happened to be giggling like a group of school children.

It wasn’t until they were halfway home before he finally took a sip of the coffee the barista had shoved in his hands. He understood why Clint had groaned as he eagerly gulped down half the cup, letting the magical taste of the simple coffee overtake him. He was only brought out of his caffeine-induced haze when he heard Clint’s restrained snorts.

“What?” he asked defensively, cradling the cup to his chest. “It’s delicious.”

“Not that,” Natasha said, hiding her smile behind her hand, but her eyes were still shining. “That,” she explained, leaning forward and tapping on the slanted script on the side of the cup.

Steve had originally assumed it had said ‘Tall Blond and Handsome’ like the latte had, but now that he actually looked, the black sharpie read ‘ _Call me sometime – Tony,’_ followed by a list of digits. Steve felt the blush crawl up his neck as Clint finally let his laughter go unrestrained and his joyful hooting filled the car, but he didn’t look away. Tony. The not-really-a-barista’s name was Tony.

Steve felt a small smile curl his lips and took another sip. Tony. He definitely liked the sound of that.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve felt ridiculous. Here he was, standing in the lobby of the world’s best secret agency, fiddling with his phone like he was a teenager.

Clint groaned when he saw the contact name Steve had put in a week ago hovering on the screen, as it usually was nowadays. “Oh, just call him already and put the rest of us out of our misery,” he whined. “You could die tomorrow, might as well make the best out of today.”

The wise words didn’t fit with Clint’s grumbling tone, but he was right. The reason Steve had the phone out now was because there had been a fight a few hours ago right in front of the coffee shop he’d first met Tony at, and even though he knew the man didn’t work there full time, he had no idea how long that ‘favor’ was supposed to last. Iron Man had stifled the situation before much harm could be done – arriving even before the Avengers, much to Fury’s annoyance – but there had still been civilian injuries. When Steve had tried to call Tony to see if he was okay, he hadn’t answer.

Clint swaggered off leaving Steve alone in the corner of the bustling lobby. He fiddled with the phone a second longer before taking a fortifying breath. Clint was right, with their jobs it would only take one slip. He pressed the button.

He nearly hung up when it started ringing.

“Y’ello,” answered Tony’s already familiar voice from over the line. “You’ve got Tony Stanley, and if that’s not who you’re looking for, goodbye.”

“Hi Tony,” Steve answered, not able to stifle the breath of relief he let out – Tony was okay. Even if he was just a crush, Steve couldn’t have stood to loose another person he cared about. “It’s Steve.” He paused a moment, blushing before adding, “Tall, Blond, and Handsome?”

“Yeah, I remember you,” Tony chuckled. “Vanilla latte, extra sugar. And black coffee. How was it?”

“Mind-blowing,” Steve sighed happily. “Best coffee I have ever had.”

Tony laughed boisterously and Steve’s chest swelled to know that he’d been the cause of it. “Why thank you, good sir,” Tony jested.

“I give compliments where they’re due,” Steve said, shrugging a little though Tony couldn’t see him, and shoving his free hand into his pocket.

He got the feeling that Tony was blushing when he casually asked, “So, what makes you call after a week of radio silence? Don’t you know you can call after three days without being clingy?”

“Really?” asked Steve before he thought better of it. That must’ve been one of the arbitrary rules of this century. He’d ask Clint about it later. “I’ve never heard that,” he said into the phone in place of the other words.

“Color me surprised,” Tony said with a laugh. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

Steve blushed deeper and hunched his shoulders, feeling more than a little silly for worrying so much about the fight now. “I – the news was talking about a fight in front of the coffee shop? I didn’t know if you’d been there when it went down or if you’d been hurt.” He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Aw, Stevie, you care, how sweet.” The words were mocking but the voice was soft and warm and - grateful? Yeah, grateful that Steve cared. Steve’s brows furrowed. There could be a few innocent explanations for the unnecessary happiness Steve’s basic human concern, but he got the feeling that it wasn’t that. “Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside,” Tony was continuing.

“Yeah well, you seem like the reckless type, so I suppose somebody should,” he snarked back, deciding to let it lie for the moment. He swallowed hard again, building up his courage for the next reason he’d called. (Yes, he knew it was ridiculous that he faced hell-bent robots, magicians, and aliens on a monthly basis, yet asking his crush out was what made him nervous.) “Do you want to – I don’t know, get coffee some time?” Clint had briefed him on how people dated nowadays – apparently going out dancing on a first date wasn’t normal anymore, which made Steve a little sad; he never had gotten that dance. Clint had said coffee was the generally acceptable first date option, and, that once he had a little more experience, Steve would learned how to tell a lot about a person by the kind of coffee they ordered.

He could feel Tony’s smile growing across the wavelengths that connected that, and it soothed his nerves. “Oh Steve,” Tony said, and there was the palpable smirk in his tone again. “You and me are going to have so much fun.”

 +++

They do, although it isn’t in the way Steve assumes Tony meant with the line. Their first date isn’t coffee – “We already did that Stevie, try and be a little creative for our first time” – but they instead went to the zoo. Steve did it half in an attempt to stump the younger man, but Tony was _thrilled_ , running around with his hands on the bars and squealing at the animals, like a little kid. Steve laughed right along with Tony and it was easy to ignore the judging looks of strangers with Tony by his side, showing him how to.

The second date, Tony takes Steve out for dinner at a fancy restaurant – with reservations and everything – but they end up ditching it for the sub-par burger joint a few blocks away, getting burger grease on their dress shirts while they laugh. Steve learns that Tony actually works for SI (which sets off a few coincidence alarm bells in Steve’s head, until he asks a few casual questions Natasha taught him and Tony passes with flying colors) as the head engineer, despite only being twenty-one. He went to MIT, he tells Steve, and suddenly Steve’s seventy-year-old high school diploma seems so shabby.

“So what do you do?” asks Tony, stuffing several grease-drenched fries into his mouth.

Steve takes a short moment to admire Tony’s pink lips – even if they are a little greasy, they’re still pretty – before answering, “I work for the government.” He knows his cover story by heard now, but it still rubs him the wrong way to lie to people – even if that wasn’t actually a lie. “I used to be a soldier, but when my tour was over I was offered a job and I took it.” He shrugged. “I’m happy with it, and my team is the closest thing I have to family, so, no complaints.”

Tony hummed and sifted through his basket of fries. “I can dig the found family feels,” he says, nodding as he picks up a particularly long fry to inspect it.

Steve decides he likes the phrase, and he can't help the soft smile that curves over his lips as he watches Tony, not saying anything. It takes Tony a moment before he notices Steve’s silence, and he looks over, smiling bemusedly until Steve kisses the look off his face.

It’s sweet and soft and a little uncoordinated on both their parts, their lips mashing together and their noses bumping, but when Steve feels Tony’s lips curl up under his, he knows he wouldn’t want it any other way.

For their third date they do go out and get coffee, and when Tony laughs so hard that his black drink is leaking from his nose, gasping and grabbing for napkins as his eyes water and the rest of the café look at them like their crazy, Steve realizes how far gone he is already.

It’s a little terrifying because he’s never loved anyone before – not like this at least. He loved his mother and he loved Peggy and god knows he loved Bucky, but history twisted what he and Peggy had into something it definitely wasn’t. Steve is, as Tony put it with a smirk, an ‘ _equal opportunity lover’_ , but Peggy had just been a friend. “Strictly dictly,” was Tony’s quick reply when Steve asked what that made the younger man.

He might not be _in_ love with Tony yet, might not even love him at all yet, but he’s never had romantic feeling for another person this deeply before. He’s had sex plenty of times – another thing textbooks fucked up; Steve was in the army, so contrary to popular belief he knows how to curse and how to have a good time (even if he can't get drunk) – but nothing that progressed past one or two night stands, or schoolboy crushes. Tony is… different.

It doesn’t hit Steve how beautiful Tony is until the fifth date.

Tony texts him when he’s at SHIELD, telling Steve to meet him in the park dressed casual formal because he’s taking Steve out for dinner. Steve worries that it’s going to be like the fancy restaurant they tried earlier on, but when Tony assures him over texts that slacks and a button down is perfect attire, Steve relaxes.

He meets Tony in the park like they arranged and his breath catches slightly in his throat when he sees Tony in light grey skinny jeans and a tight white t-shirt under a blazer fitted within an inch of its life.

Tony takes his hand and they chat softly and aimlessly as they wander down back streets until Tony leads them to a small family restaurant in Little Italy. It’s dimly lighted, most of the light coming from wisping candles and the windows. The tables are small and circular, decorated in red and white checked tablecloths that would’ve been garnish in any other place but seem to suit the little place perfectly.

Steve sees tension he didn’t know existed slide right out of Tony’s shoulders as soon as they enter the place, and he smiles when Tony hand in his becomes a little more assured that that’s where it belongs.

“This is where I came the first time I ever stepped foot in New York,” he tells Steve, drumming his fingers on the table and looking around with soft eyes. “I was thirteen and I’d never left my home state before, and I found myself here. I’ve been coming back ever since.”

A small bustling old woman hustled up to the table, a sour look on her face, until she saw Tony and she practically melted. “Antonio! Il mio miele, dove sei stato?” She swapped Tony on the head lovingly and Tony smirked sheepishly at her.

“You know I've got a new job, Ada,” he said, catching her hand and kissing the knuckles of her wrinkled fingers. “How have you been?”

“Io sto bene, bene,” she said absently, turning to Steve with a critiquing eye. “E chi è questo?” she asked.

“Steve,” Tony answered, smiling softly. “He’s my new boyfriend,” he explained. Steve smiled bemusedly, but took Tony’s hand when it was offered.

“Non è che un po 'vecchio?” Tony just shrugged. “Egli ti trattano bene?” At this, Tony beamed and nodded eagerly, teeth glinting with candlelight. He was beautiful. “Okay then,” the woman said in accented English, before finally addressing Steve. “If you hurt my boy, you will have to face me, yes?”

Steve nodded gravely, no doubt in his mind that this little old woman could tear him apart, super-soldier serum or no.

“I get you your drinks now, Antonio,” she said, pulling out an order pad.

“Thank you, Ada,” Tony smiled.

When she left, Steve raised his eyebrow at Tony. “I speak Italian,” Tony explained. Steve snorted and made a ‘go on’ gesture with his hands. “She just wanted to know that you were treating me well,” he explained, taking Steve’s other hand. “I met Ada when I came to New York for the first time. She helped me find my way to the subway station. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he said dryly, but the soft look in his eyes contradicted his tone.

“I’m sure it was,” Steve agreed, smirking at his boyfriend. “I remember the first time I came to New York,” he said after a moment of hesitation. He had to be careful telling this story. “I grew up in a different city, and me and my best friend took a bus down here to see the sights. We ended up just riding the subway for four hours.” Steve chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. “Great day.”

Tony’s eyes were soft when he nodded. “I bet it was,” he agreed, looking around the little shop. “There’s just something about this city – everywhere you turn there’s something to see. I come from Oklahoma, and let me tell you, this is definitely a step-up.”

“Step-up of where I came from too,” Steve tells him. “Slums of Brooklyn,” Steve tells him where Tony asks where he’s from. “My mom worked as a nurse at a hospital, and me and my friend were left to our own devises,” he explains, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. “It’s a lot different here – I'm living in a bigger space now, much bigger, and with different people. My life’s improved a hell of a lot, I guess, but sometimes I still miss those days.” Steve sighs and looks across the table at Tony, who’s nodding sympathetically. “I guess things were simpler when I was a kid,” he says.

Tony smiles and leans back in his seat. “Can't say I miss Oklahoma,” he says, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “I got a scholarship to MIT and took off as soon as I could. Left everything behind and never looked back.”

Tony’s words are firm and proud, but a little defensive, like he thinks Steve might judge him for this – leaving his home for somewhere new, but Steve would never judge a person for that. Why would he when he wanted to run away so many times? His mom held him where he was, as did Bucky, and even if he’d been poor and sick he truly loved them – both of them, and he loved his ratty apartment and his crazy neighbors. Maybe Tony hadn't had those things he loved holding him where he was, and all he’d had was the want to go somewhere else.

“Sometimes you have to leave where you grew up to find where you belong,” Steve says instead of any of that. The way Tony relaxes in his seat tells Steve that he was expecting retribution for leaving his home. “A few of my friends did the same. One came all the way from Russia, and the other’s from even farther,” he says, and smiles a little. It’s pretty true that all of them are leagues from where they started. He’s a century out of place and Thor travelled galaxies, but still. This is home. For all of them.

“I’ve always loved New York,” Tony sighs softly, looking around the restaurant with a soft gaze. “It’s loud and noisy and filled with people, and you’re never quite alone, but I love it. Can't imagine living anywhere else now, really.”

“I must say, sometimes I do miss my old home… but I can't imagine picking one over the other,” Steve says. “I lived in DC for a while, I liked it there as well. But it was never really home, you know? Just where I lived because it’s where my job needed me,” he said, tapping his fingers lightly on the checkered tablecloth.

“Yeah?” asks Tony, looking interested. “What do you do?”

“I work for the government,” Steve says after a moment, wincing a bit. But Natasha says it’s all part of the act, that looking hesitant makes it seem more convincing. “I can't tell you much more,” he adds apologetically.

“Oh?” Tony says smirking, a smile in his eyes. He reaches over and takes Steve’s hand, running his thumb in circles over the back of it. “My boyfriend’s a big star secret agent man then?” he asks playfully.

Steve smiles sheepishly. “You could put it like that,” he offers hesitantly. “But you’ll need to quite your voice or I may have to kill you,” he adds, trying to look serious but judging by the way Tony is trying to hold in snickers he didn’t succeed. “Tell me about you instead,” Steve offers, not trying to hide the conversation switch.

By Tony’s easy smile, he seems to understand. “What more to tell?” he asks, drumming his fingers on the table. “I don’t work at a coffee shop but I do make the best coffee in New York State.”

Steve chuckles and captures Tony’s hand, running his fingers up and down the knuckles. “Tell me about your family – your friends,” he suggests.

Tony shrugs. “Don’t have much of either,” he says, going for casual but drifting a little to the left. “My boss – Pepper Stark, most badass person in the world – is my closest friend. We’ve been really tight since I started to work for her. I’ve got a couple other people scattered here and there.” Again, Tony shrugs. “Never had much family, those who I did have got left rightfully in the dust when I got accepted to MIT.”

“Pepper Stark?” Steve asks. Again, it’s a connection that’s too close to Steve for him to feel comfortable in the assumption that Tony truly isn't just using him. Pepper Stark is one of the Avengers largest benefactors. Could she be using Tony as an inside man to see if they were deserved of her time and money?

Tony nods, smiling eagerly. “Yeah, she’s amazing,” he says. “Taught me everything I know – gave me a chance when no one else would,” he says. “She’s… fucking incredible, is what she is,” he says, smiling happily.

Steve smiles back, unable to resist. If Tony is truly faking this – and Steve has a hard time believing that he is – well, the super soldier might just have to let him keep faking for a while.

Steve feels like he’s already addicted to that smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: Monday
> 
> I apologize for any terrible Italian in this chapter, as I don't speak the language.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor chapter warning with spoilers in the bottom note.

“Good afternoon, Tony,” Steve says with a grin, jogging up to the park bench they’d agreed to meet at. Tony tilts his head back and smiles. Steve rewards him with a kiss before rounding the bench and sitting down next to his boyfriend. “I’ve missed you,” Steve says, once they’ve finished their second kiss.

“I missed you too,” Tony says, “but I’ve been so fucking busy with work lately, it’s insane. We’ve got this new huge project that’s about to fucking break the market, and I’ve gotta make sure everything’s fucking perfect on top of traveling around with Pepper and being the face of the product.” Tony lets his head flop down onto Steve’s broad shoulder. “It’s exhausting,” he says, and yawns on cue.

Steve wraps an arm around Tony’s waist and lets the genius snuggle in closer to his side. “You need a break,” Steve decides, mentally going over everything Clint taught him about dating in the modern world. He wonders if now would be an acceptable time to ask Tony dancing. Would it be quirky and fun, or unexpected and weird? Steve decides to talk to Clint again before he asks Tony dancing. “Take a night off, we can go do something. “Like a… club?”

Tony slowly turns his head so he’s looking Steve in the eye. He stares at the blushing super soldier for several long seconds before bursting into side-splitting laughter.

“Oh – oh my god,” he gasps out, rocking forward and out of Steve’s grip with the force of his cackles. “That’s – oh, you’re so _adorable_.”

Steve winces and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh, sorry,” he says unsurely, not quite aware if he’s just suggested something completely socially inept. Perhaps clubs are similar to those ‘gentlemen’s clubs’ Howard always tried to bring Steve to? From the scenes he’s watched in shows, the lack of clothing and the very _intimate_ dancing, Steve thinks he may not be too far off with that assumption. “I didn’t mean – I’ve never-”

“Oh, sweetheart, calm down,” Tony chuckles, straightening up and leaning back against him, patting his chest with one hand. “Just – the thought of you in skimpy clothing grinding up against someone with pounding base-” Tony broke off to laugh again, head angled upwards and smile wide against sparkling teeth. “You’d hate clubbing, babe,” he finished off simply. “And I don’t care for it much either anymore,” he adds, shaking his head as though there’s an annoying bug flying around his ear. “I left those days behind when I left MIT,” he finishes, crossing one leg over the other and leaning fully into Steve. His smile is gone, but Steve isn't sure why exactly.

“Glad I could make you laugh,” Steve says after a moment, planting one of the sloppy kisses he knows Tony secretly loves onto his boyfriend’s forehead. Tony preens slightly, a small smirk on his lips as he captures Steve’s and turns it into a real kiss.

“You’re such a nice guy,” Tony sighs against Steve’s lips when they pull apart, big, soft brown eyes blinking up into Steve’s blue ones. “Just a… genuinely nice guy. You don’t find much of those around anymore.”

Tony’s talking as though from experience, so Steve kisses him till he’s smiling again. “I’m only nice when you’re around,” Steve promises. “My arch-enemies see me and quake in terror.”

Tony laughs and snags Steve’s hand before folding their fingers together. “All right, Superman, take it easy,” he grumbles good-naturedly.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, just enjoying each other’s company, watching the people running through the park and the kids playing it. Dusk has just begun to darken the tips of the trees when Steve speaks again.

“So then what do you want to do?” he asks, still racking his brain. “We could go to a bar,” he suggests. He, Bucky, and the Howling Commandos used to go to bars all the time, and Steve would see plenty of couples there. Sure, that was seventy years ago, but from what he’s seen, bars themselves haven't changed all that much so-

Before Steve’s train of thought is complete, Tony has pulled himself out from Steve’s grip. Tony’s head is bent and his eyes are closed, his hands clasped together tightly over his lap. Steve is alert immediately. “Tony?” he asks softly, leaning forward but not trying to touch the other again. “Are you okay?” he asks softly. “What’s wrong?”

Tony takes a shuddering breath and flicks his eyes towards Steve before shutting them again. “I – Well, I guess it’s time I tell you, right?” he asked, words almost too quiet to hear. “Uhm… I’m not going to go to a bar, Steve.”

“Okay,” Steve jumps in, hoping to sooth the issue. “That’s fine we don’t have to do-”

“Sweetie, I kind of just need to talk for a minute, okay?” Tony asks, finally lowering his hands and looking Steve in the eye. Steve nods silently, trying to smile reassuringly, but he can feel his heartbeat picking up speed. “I don’t drink,” Tony said, looking away from Steve and back over the park. “Not anymore.”

Steve, unsure if that was the extent of Tony’s admission, remains silent. Waits for the younger man to continue on his own time.

“I was – In college, I was going through a lot of issues, and I started going to parties and drinking and – it got out of hand.” Tony shuts his eyes again and lowers his head. “It got to the point where my best friend finally cut me off because he said I was turning into an alcoholic.”

Steve feels his heart shake in sympathy for Tony. He was thirteen when he started at one of the best schools in the world, and Steve knew that his childhood hadn't been good. The super soldier couldn’t imagine what he’s been going through, and he ached with sympathy at the struggles it had led the genius too.

“It was a crutch, because the buzz is good but then it starts to wear off so you drink more and you keep drinking and then you’re not buzzed you’re drunk and – and I don’t like who I am when I’m drunk. I don’t like how I felt.” Tony pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes and shakes his head. “It’s less of an addiction because I couldn’t stop, and more of an addiction because when I was sober and feeling like shit, all I could remember was the high of the buzz and I forgot about the crash that came after it.”

They were quiet for a long moment.

“I’m really sorry you had to go through that,” Steve finally broke the silence, leaning forward and wrapping his arm around Tony’s shoulder. “And I am so, so glad that you are recovering from it.”

Steve is startled when he’s suddenly engulfed in a hug, but he’s quick to return it. Tony’s face is buried in the crook of his neck.

“I l- Steve you’re-” Tony cuts himself off and swallows hard. Steve squeezes him a little tighter. “You’re amazing,” Tony mumbles against his skin. “I’m – I’m really glad I met you.”

“I’m glad I met you too,” Steve agreed, pressing a kiss to Tony’s curly hair and holding him just a bit firmer.

Tony tilts his head and then he and Steve are kissing. It’s hard, and deep, and much more passionate than any of the kisses they’ve shared up until this point, and Steve isn't sure quite how long it lasts.

They’re finally pulled out of it by a sharp wolf whistle and Steve looks up to see a group of teenagers walking down a path a good distance away from them, chuckling amongst themselves. Steve feels his face instantly flame up – they’re in public, for goodness sake – and Tony starts laughing.

“You know what,” he says, grinning up at Steve, “my apartment isn't too far from here, and I get the feeling your sensibilities are too dainty to be doing this kind of stuff in public.”

Steve chuckles nervously but nods. “Sure,” he agrees, standing up and accidentally hauling Tony to his feet as well. The younger man just laughs as he scrambles to keep from falling over. “Sorry,” Steve mumbles, putting his hands on Tony’s waist to help with balance.

Tony smiles softly and kisses Steve again before taking his hand. “Come on,” he says, tugging. “It’s just a few blocks away.”

They start off through the park and Steve feels his blush coming back. What exactly is Tony planning? By now, it’s actually dark out, and they’d been in a pretty serious make-out session just a few minutes ago. Was Tony planning on… progressing their relationship tonight? Steve wasn’t sure.

The walk was only a few minutes and Tony stopped in front of a large, nice building. In the streetlight, Steve could see that his cheeks were dusted with a blush, and he seemed to be fidgeting as though he was nervous.

“Uh, so this is my building,” Tony said awkwardly, before turning so his back was facing Steve and quickly keying in the code. It seemed he’d realized what his offer might have sounded like. “Come on,” Tony said, taking Steve’s hand and pulling him through the lobby and into the far right elevator.

Tony hit the button for the thirty-seventh floor, and as the elevator starts to rise they both fall silent.

At around floor twenty-five, Steve begins to talk. “Tony-” he just begins, and is instantly interrupted when Tony whirls to face him.

“I don’t want to have sex tonight,” the genius blurts, and, unlucky enough for him, it’s that moment the doors open. A little old lady stands in the entrance, eyebrows raised. Tony groans in utter embarrassment and covers his eyes with his hand and Steve tries desperately to hold in laughter. “Mrs. Madison, I am so sorry,” Tony says, face on fire from his blush.

“Don’t worry dear,” says Mrs. Madison, smiling cheekily at Tony. “I’ll catch the next lift. You to have fun tonight, alright?”

Tony groans again and Steve loses the fight against his laughter as the doors start to close. When Tony starts to sulk, Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him to his chest in a hug, still shaking a bit with laughter. “Tony, we don’t have to do anything tonight, if you don’t want to,” Steve assures with a bright smile. “Heck, for my fella, I’d even watch Pretty Little Liars and leave before ten.”

Tony smiles, still a little nervous but for the most part assuaged. “Your fella, huh?” he asks as the doors open again, this time on the correct floor. “I like that.” He pecks Steve’s lips as they step out. “Thank you.”

There’s only two doors in the hallway and Tony leads Steve to the one of the left. “Welcome to Casa de Stanley,” he says after unlocking the door and swinging it open. Steve follows him inside and begins looking around.

The first thing he sees is a mounted cartoon drawing of Spiderman. “I have a friend who adores Spiderman,” Tony says when he sees Steve looking at it curiously. “It embarrasses the shit out of him to have it on my wall.”

Other than that, the front room is, to say the least, not particularly exciting. There’s a bookshelf to one side with a nook behind it that has a washer and a dryer, and to the other side there’s nothing but the opening to the hallway.

“Right this way,” Tony says, moving towards the little hallway. “It has been more than an hour since I had my last cup of coffee, and I am already suffering from withdrawal.”

Steve chuckles as he follows Tony, eyes sweeping every inch of the space. The walls are off-white grey, but the floor is a nice Red Oak that goes well with it. Down the blank hallway there are two doors, but Tony walks past them and leads Steve into the open area at the far end of the apartment. To his right is a very plush looking living room area, to his left a modern kitchen, and right in front is a dining table and chairs. All the furniture is black, white or grey, but it goes with the red oak in a way Steve wouldn’t have expected. It looks professionally decorated, but it also looks like a home. Behind the dining table are large sliding glass doors that lead out to a small balcony and a beautiful view of the city.

“Do you have a roommate?” Steve asks after looking around a moment. After all, the kitchen is large, there’s enough setting for half a dozen people in the living room, and there’s a four-seat dining table. It seems pretty big for just Tony.

“No,” his boyfriend answers, moving towards his kitchen and, more importantly, the coffee machine. “Just me. I like having lots of space.”

“It’s a beautiful home,” Steve complements honestly, looking over the place one more. It’s probably double the size of an average New York apartment, but Steve’s gotten used to living in the huge open space of Stark Tower. Nevertheless, the space is nice, and it seems very Tony. Steve likes it immediately.

They end up staying past twelve, and despite Steve’s promise, instead of Pretty Little Liars, Tony introduces Steve to the joy of watching shitty action movies in the middle of the night. Steve gulps down Tony’s angelic coffee by the pot, not worried about the caffeine intake with his metabolism, and Tony laughs so hard he gets a split in his side when Steve ends up nearly breaking the remote. They eat cereal on the balcony at two am, snuggles up to each other and watching the airplanes and helicopters in lieu of stars.

At three, when Tony finally yawns, Steve turns off the TV and stands up. “I, uh, should be going home,” he says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

A very sleepy Tony reaches out and snags Steve’s hand. “You can stay if you want,” he says, looking up with wide eyes, as though afraid of Steve’s rejection. It’s one of the rawest emotions Steve has ever seen on Tony’s face, and even though part of that must stem from tiredness, it still makes Steve’s heart swell.

He swoops down and presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “I’d love that, he whispers.

Tony leads Steve back to the hallway and through one of the doors. He grabs some clothes before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom to change. Steve awkwardly wonders what he should wear before pulling off his t-shirt. He keeps on the sweats he was wearing on his run though, and then sits down on the bed.

Tony comes out of the bathroom in soft looking pajama pants and an old worn AC-DC shirt and then clambers down on the other side of the bed. He pulls Steve down so they’re lying next to each other and then plants a hesitant kiss on his cheek.

“Goodnight Steve,” he whispers.

“Goodnight Tony,” Steve says back, and, after a moment, wraps an arm around Tony’s slimmer waist and pulls him closer so they’re lying snug. Tony chuckles softly before going limp with sleep, and Steve follows shortly after, feeling warmer than he has since Bucky fell off that damn train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor Warning: Mention of past alcohol abuse/alcoholism. It's an important part of this chapter, but it is only discussed.


	4. Chapter 4

“He’s a genius,” Steve murmured, maybe just a tad bit dreamily.

Clint snorted, amused. “Aw, how sweet,” he playfully sneered. “Captain America’s in love. I think I might throw up.”

Steve blushed furiously and glared at Clint, but there was no heat behind it. “He actually is,” Steve defended. “He went to MIT and has, like three masters degrees!”

Clint stares at him, a little mind boggled. “How do you even have conversations?” he asks, a little disbelievingly.

Steve glowers but shrugs, deciding the smack Natasha hits Clint with is enough punishment. “I don’t really know,” says Steve after a moment, letting himself smile sheepishly. “He doesn’t always make sense to me but I just like hearing him talk. And he talks a lot, so it works out pretty well. He’s really big on pop culture too, so he’s been catching me up with the last seventy years.”

“He knows you’re Captain America?” Natasha bites out angrily, and Steve startles a bit at the wild conclusion she drew so quickly. “Steve, that’s reckless and _stupid_! You’ve only-”

“From the forties, Nat, not an idiot,” Steve reminds her, rolling his eyes. “He doesn’t know I'm Captain America. I’m just Steve to him. It’s actually pretty refreshing,” he says, giving up another smile. “I told him my mom never let me watch TV or movies except for the really old things from the forties and before, and I just preferred that era of music and books.”

“So you’ve been lying to him?” Bruce asks, raising one eyebrow as he digs through his Chinese carton. “That’s potentially catastrophic.”

Steve sighed and rubbed his brow. This had been bugging him, of course, from the beginning. “I hate lying to him,” Steve agreed. “But I'm trying, really, to keep it minimal. Just excuses for things, mostly. He knows I was in the army and still work on a branch of it. But all the details – the important stuff, I'm being honest about. He knows I'm old-fashioned, he just doesn’t know why exactly.”

“And when – if he learns?” asks Bruce. “Won’t he be upset?”

Steve slumped. “He’ll be furious,” he corrected. “Tony hates being lied to – but I don’t want to put him at risk. He’s not dumb enough to go spouting out my secret identity or anything, but if he’s told anyone he’s dating Steve Grantson and then Doctor Doom or someone figures out my identity? Tony is then put at risk by anyone trying to get to me.”

“He’s already at risk,” Natasha said gently, leaning over and resting a hand comfortingly on his knee. “He has been ever since he gave you his number. More so since you called him. There’s a reason SHIELD advises all upper-level agents against relationships with civilians.”

“I will do anything to protect him,” said Steve firmly. “Anything.”

“Might not be enough,” Clint reminded him.

“And that’s why I’m lying to him,” Steve finished. “So it will be enough. So he’s not a target I _need_ to protect. I want to help people, that’s why I work for SHIELD. That doesn’t mean I'm willing to give up my own life.”

“Okay,” said Natasha placatingly. “So long as you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I think we should meet this guy who’s got Cap wrapped around his little finger,” Clint grinned, stuffing his face with his food.

“Aye!” Thor boomed, finally walking back into the room. “Let us meet our Captain’s chosen partner and decide if he is worthy of our fearless leader!” He sat down on the couch next to Bruce and reached for a container. “Only the best befit our Captain of the Americas.”

“I'm going to need a last name, too,” said Natasha conversationally, searching through the bin of General Chow for the best piece.

“Why?” asked Steve hesitantly.

“Background check, my good friend,” said Clint evilly. “Gotta make sure this guy doesn’t have any skeletons in his closet.”

“No,” Steve replied immediately. “Absolutely not. I'm not letting you run my boyfriend through a security check.”

“Why not?” asked Natasha, raising an eyebrow. “What if he’s hiding something? You don’t necessarily know that he isn’t a double agent for Hydra.”

“Hydra doesn’t know my identity,” said Steve, glowering. “If they did, I’d be a lot worse off than a fake boyfriend. And Tony is not a fake.”

“Steve, we won’t tell you anything unless it’s bad,” said Natasha easily. “It’s just to put me at ease, okay? I need to know you’re safe and that he’s not going to hurt you.”

Steve considered it for a moment, and even though he really didn’t want to invade Tony’s privacy, he was potentially putting his whole team at risk by bringing Tony into their lives without any proof that he wasn’t going to double cross them. “Fine,” he said after a minute. “Tony Stanley.”

“Is Tony short for Anthony?” asked Natasha, already pulling out her phone.

“No,” said Steve, shaking his head. “It’s just Tony. He doesn’t have a middle name.”

“Okay, Tony Stanley, this guy?” asked Natasha, turning her phone so Steve could see the picture on it. It was a few years old, when Tony was in his mid-teens, but it was obviously him. Steve nodded and Natasha turned the phone back to herself. “Hmm, born in Arkansas, raised in Oklahoma by his single father, Obi Stanley - deceased…. Whoa.”

“What?” Clint jumped to ask, leaning forward, eyes drawn in suspicion.

“He really is a genius,” she said, looking at Steve in surprise.

“I know,” said Steve slowly. “That’s why I said he was.”

Natasha shook her head and stared at her phone. “No I mean… world class genius. He’s right up there with Steven Hawkins, Albert Einstein, and Hank Pym,” she said, miffed.

Thor looked confused and Bruce looked amazed. “Who are these Midgardian people?” he asked.

“Three of the smartest people ever to have lived,” Bruce explained, looking to Natasha. “How so?” he asked.

“He started at MIT when he was… thirteen,” she said, shaking her head, “graduated summa cum laude four years later at seventeen with three masters degrees and two doctorates. Immediately hired by Stark Industries, he was their head engineer by the end of the year. Since then he’s designed nearly a hundred of the best selling products SI has ever produced – including this phone,” she finished shaking her head. “This is unreal, Steve. I mean, he’s definitely too in the eye of the public for him to make sense as a double agent and his story isn’t fake, but how in god’s name did you manage to score one of the top fifty eligible bachelor under twenty-five for yourself?”

They all stared at him until Steve shrugged and shifted uneasily. “Uh, Tony said I was charming?” he offered up uselessly.

Bruce just shook his head, grinning slightly. “Well, can't deny that,” he said kindly.

“Wait a minute,” Clint interrupted. “Under twenty-five? How old is he?”

“Twenty-one,” Natasha and Steve answered together.

Clint’s jaw dropped. “Excuse _me_?” he asked, reeling backwards. “You’re dating a kid over a decade younger than you who might just be the smartest person in America? _How_? What’s your secret?”

Steve blushed furiously.

Bruce frowned. “Twenty is pretty young for you, Steve,” he said, looking disgruntled. “You’re twelve years older than him.”

“Thank you, I can do the math for myself,” Steve sassed, before sighing. “Sorry, I just – I knew this would come up eventually. Yeah, I mean, he’s not that old, but he’s about ten times smarter than me, so I trust him to know what he’s doing here. Guys, I was born in nineteen-eighteen. Technically, I'm ninety-seven. So forgive me if I'm not too keen to pay that much attention to my age in relation to Tony. He knows what he’s doing – probably better than me, really.”

“Typically, the largest socially acceptable age difference in a romantic relationship is half of the older person’s age plus four years,” said Bruce, brow furrowing. “For you, that’d be about twenty, twenty one.”

“I don’t really care,” said Steve with a soft smile and shrug. “Even if it wasn’t – Tony is way past the age of legal consent, and I trust him to know what he’s doing, like I said. And, as Natasha pointed out, if Tony didn’t want to be with me, there are plenty other people more age ‘appropriate’ who would be willing to take my place.”

Steve let his team take in the information for a minute. Thor was the first to break the silence. “I must admit confusion on my part,” he said, looking between Bruce and Steve. “He is but merely a decade younger than thou?”

Bruce chuckled. In Thor’s lifespan being born a decade apart was about the same as being born a week apart in a human’s life. “It’s about the same as eight-hundred years would be for you, Thor,” he explained. Thor’s eyes widened and he nodded in recognition.

“I understand,” he said. “The good doctor is concerned for our Captain’s partner’s ability to make decisions of this caliber, yes?”

“Correct,” agreed Natasha with a pleased smile.

Thor didn’t smile back. “It is ridiculous that our Captain should be made to questioned his affections due to age when his chosen companion has proven his intelligence.”

“Thank you,” said Steve smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back with a smile. “Thor is on my side.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “We’re all on your side, dumbass,” she said. “Anyway, he’s not a spy. I’m just gonna do a little more digging to make sure he’s worthy of our personal American icon,” Natasha said dryly.

“He doesn’t even know I'm Captain America,” Steve defended, feeling his cheeks flush.

“He might,” Clint interject. “He could still be a spy.”

“He’s not a spy!”

“Well I am. So I would know better than you.”

“He’s not a spy.”

“Thank you, Natasha.”

“Any day Steve.”

“ _Naaaat,_ you’re supposed to be on _my_ side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: Monday


	5. Chapter 5

Tony’s never been to Coney Island, Steve learns, during the second month of his relationship with the man, which is unacceptable. He makes to remedy that as soon as he can.

Tony screams on the roller coaster, laughs his ass off on the merry-go-round, and gives sticky smiles and kisses while making his way through the largest cone of pink cotton candy Steve has ever seen.

It’s beginning to scare Steve how fast he’s falling.

The skies are beautiful, the last vestiges of sunlight mixing with moonlight to sparkle out over the ocean as he and Tony walk hand in still-sugar-sticky hand down the boardwalk.

Tony sighs happily and leans against Steve’s side. “One part of me is furious that I’ve been missing out on this for three years,” he says, and Steve chuckles. “The other part is just glad I got to do it with you.”

Steve is shocked breathless by Tony’s words and has to stop right there to kiss him. Which doesn’t really help with the lack of breath, but whatever, worth it.

They continue their stroll once they’ve achieved proper oxygen levels. Tony shivers slightly and Steve stops to give him his jacket. Tony laughs so hard at the cliché chivalry that Steve briefly fears the ice-cream cone from earlier is going to make a reappearance.

Tonight, Tony is wearing a light gray t-shirt that reaches his elbows and jeans. Which is odd, now that Steve thinks about. Tony is almost always wearing a sweater or a flannel or a blazer. Steve wonders if he’s ever seen Tony in just a t-shirt before.

He brushes it off because it’s not important, and besides, Tony looks adorable swamped in Steve’s leather jacket.

They stop once the sun is fully down, leaning against the railing and just staring out at the beach, talking about nothing.

Steve’s mind drifts to the conversation he had with his team a few weeks ago. “Tony?” he starts, and waits until the younger man looks at him. “How would you feel about meeting my team- my family, really?” he asks, making sure to meet Tony’s eyes.

Tony looks surprised. “Your – wait, really?” he asks, and Steve nods. Tony is obviously taken aback. “Uh, well – man, Steve, meeting the family is kind of a big step,” he says, hunching his shoulders slightly. “I mean – I’m not opposed to it, just…. You don’t mean tonight, do you?” he asks, suddenly worried.

“No,” Steve assures quickly. “Definitely not tonight, maybe not for a few weeks just – they’re important to meet, and you’re important to me, and I’d really like to stop keeping the two most important aspects of my life separate,” Steve explains, hoping that he gets the words right.

When Tony doesn’t respond but just goes back to looking at the ocean, Steve continues. “They’re really great people, Tony,” he says, turning his body to face Tony’s directly. “And they know what it’s like to have left the past behind for a new beginning,” he adds, after a moment. Tony’s eyes flick to his. “You don’t have to meet them if you don’t want to, and of course not until you’re ready but-”

“I’ll meet them,” Tony interrupts, turning to face Steve as well. “They’re your family, Steve. I’ll have to meet them. And after everything you’ve said about them, they sound like awesome people.” He pauses, and then smiles slightly. “And they love you, so they’ve got to have at least some sense, right?”

Steve smiles and kisses Tony again, and he feels Tony grin into the kiss.           

“Thank you, Tony,” he murmurs against the other’s lips, and is about to continue when he hears a cry from behind them.

“It’s not fair!” a high-pitched voice complains. “I hit the target! Right on the target!”

“Sorry kid, but if the lights don’t light, you ain’t get no prize,” another voice answers.

“Come on, Teddy, let’s just go home,” a third, weary voice says. “I promise you I’ll buy you the toy, okay?”

“But it’s rigged,” the first one, Teddy, says, even as the voices start to fade from distance.

Tony is gone from between Steve’s arms before the soldier can blink his eyes open. Steve turns and sees Tony striding towards one of the carnival booths where you play a game to win a prize. Steve quickly follows after him, putting two and two together of the conversation they heard.

“Good evening, sir,” Tony says to the guy running the booth, an older, grizzled man smoking a cigarette. “Tell me please, if your game rigged?”

The man snorts at Tony. “Why you care, son?” he asked. “You think it’s rigged, don’t play. Simple as that.”

Tony looks personally offended. “Excuse me, it is not as simple as that, it’s a matter of-”

“I’ll play a round,” Steve says, interrupting Tony and setting the obligatory two dollars onto the counter. Tony whirls on Steve in outrage and the owner of the stand chortles in amusement.

“Your money, son,” he says, scooping up the bills and handing Steve three balls. “See that target?” he says, pointing towards the back of the booth. “You gotta hit that hard enough that these here lights-”

Steve winds up and throws the first ball before the man has finished speaking.

The sound of splintering wood stuns the man into silence as the rubber ball cracks straight through the piece of plywood. The lights, however, remain dark.

Steve smirks in victory. He can practically feel Tony vibrating in joy next to him. “You might want to check your wiring,” Steve offers with a patented boy scout smile. “I think something might be wrong with it.”

The man is almost quaking with fear, and the cigarette has fallen straight out of his mouth. “Ah-o-of course,” he stutters, backing up and away from Steve. “You – take any of the toys you want, of course, s-sorry for the mistake.”

“See that it gets fixed,” Steve says jovially, before looking up and grabbing an enormous red, white, and blue stuffed bear. (What? He can appreciate irony.)

“Goodnight, sir!” Tony calls to the man once Steve has turned on his heal and began walking off, prize in hand. Tony scampers up to his side and catches Steve’s hand. “You’re amazing,” he breathes, kissing the side of Steve’s lips.

“For you,” Steve says, offering Tony the bear. Tony takes and stares at Steve for a long time.

“Wanna come back to my place?” he blurts, and then bites his lips. “I’ve still got a bit of adrenaline left over from that roller coaster. Got an idea on how I could spend it.”

Steve stares at Tony for a long moment in shock, waiting to see if Tony will retract the offer, but when Tony gives him a shy but assured nod, the soldier breaks into a wild grin.

Steve has never hailed a cab so fast in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: Wednesday


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings at the end - they do contain major spoilers.

Steve falls through the door as it opened under their weight, stumbling into the apartment with Tony gripped tightly against his chest, the teddybear Steve had won for him slipping from Tony’s fingers and falling to the floor, lips locked as they made out furiously. And Tony was a _damn_ good kisser. The younger man’s tongue could knot cherry stems and he was currently putting it to work exploring every inch of the super soldier’s mouth. Steve managed to slam the door shut with a kick before they were backing up again, blundering through the crowded space. Tony’s projects were all over the floor, bits of metal and wire that made it very hard to walk when you were – preoccupied, as they were, stumbling down the hallway and slamming into walls as they went. But the serum gave Steve good balance and Tony was naturally graceful, even if it was hard to see with the way he was frequently waving his arms around wildly like a bird flapping its wings, so they managed not to fall on their asses until they’d reached Tony’s bedroom.

Steve’s knees hit the bed and he almost toppled over, would have if Tony hadn’t been fisting his shirt. Tony broke the kiss with a gasp, his eyes snapping open, pupils wide and nearly all of that lovely brown hidden.

Steve raised one hand and caressed Tony’s face, one thumb brushing over his cheek. “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, unable to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss Tony’s swollen and pink lips. It was much quicker this time, and Steve nipped Tony’s lower lip, earning a groan from the genius, before he pulled back. “How do you wanna do this?” Steve asked, licking his lips. Sex had definitely progressed since the forties, and with Tony’s looks and charm he was probably well versed, but Steve had done plenty of – ehem – research on the subject.

Tony’s hands slid down and under Steve’s shirt, feeling the hard, defined abs underneath with dancing fingers. Tony moaned low in his throat and threw his head back, prompting Steve’s mind to completely blank as he surged forward and bit the skin, sucking harshly in tune with Tony’s panting. His ever-hardening cock only became more pronounced when sharp fingernails dug into his stomach as Tony fought for perchance.

After a minute, Tony tapped Steve’s shoulder, signaling the other to pull back, and after one last loving lick, Steve did. He admired the rosy bruise already forming before meeting Tony’s gaze.

“We need to talk, before we do this,” Tony whispered, fingers still skimming along Steve’s muscles.

Steve shuddered at the contact and grabbed Tony’s wrists. “If you wanna talk, you should probably stop doing that,” he said, voice rumbling.

Tony grinned slightly, but it faded quickly and he slipped past Steve to sit on the bed, staring at his palms while Steve slowly joined him, sensing something was wrong. “This is totally gonna kill the mood,” Tony groaned after a moment.

“What is?” asked Steve, briefly wondering if Tony had an STD. That would suck, but there were still ways to have sex safely, especially in the modern world.

Tony was silent for another moment before he suddenly turned to Steve. “Take off your shirt,” he ordered, already tugging on the hem. Steve was confused but he raised his arms and let Tony slide the tight white t off of his broad shoulders. He threw the article over his shoulder and Tony reverently ran his hands over the golden plains of muscle presented to him, eyes filling with black again, but still searching.

Tony’s lithe fingers felt amazing on his body but Steve could still tell there was something he wanted. “Tony, what is it?” he asked, shifting closer to his boyfriend.

Tony’s fingers stopped all of a sudden, right above Steve’s abs on the left side of his body, the tips curling over the skin. Over the scar there. “How’d you get this?” he asked, gently tracing the jagged cut.

Steve swallowed and looked down. “I was on a mission in Europe,” he said slowly. “Intercepting a train carrying explosives to an enemy base. I got cut on a piece of metal.” None of it was a lie, but it definitely wasn’t the full truth. That had been the mission Steve lost Bucky.

Tony’s eyes flickered up to meet Steve’s, and they were sad and questioning, searching for understanding. Steve didn’t know what he was supposed to understand. Then, in one swift motion, Tony divested himself of his shirt.

Steve’s eyes swept up and down Tony’s lean, pale torso, shock freezing him for a moment. Tony was skinny – on the very edge of unhealthy – and his skin was pale, like he never saw the sun. Which, Steve was starting to think, it never did. But that wasn’t what bothered him.

Tony’s torso was scattered with old scars.

There was a long, twisted slash across the side of his stomach, and several cuts lined neatly up his sides. They travelled out to his arms but got smaller there, little cuts and nicks Steve had always assumed came from Tony’s metal work. Apparently not.

The most noticeable scar, though, was on the underside of the top of Tony’s left arm. Someone had, in jagged, unplanned letters, carved “ **TONY** ” into his skin.

Steve felt the blood drain from his face as a shaky hand reached forward to trace the letters on an unmoving Tony. He felt a tiny shiver shake through the other’s body and Steve looked up to meet once again brown eyes.

“Who did this?” he asked, fingers tightening gently on his arm.

Tony looked at the wall across from them. “Obi Stanley,” he said, eyes flicking back to meet Steve’s before they darted away again. His hands curled into fists where they rested on his thighs. “My dad,” he finished in a whisper.

Steve could almost feel the blood freeze in his body, along with the rest of him. He slowly raised his head up, back to Tony’s eyes. Tony was watching him anxiously, lip caught between his teeth. “He’s dead now,” Tony blurted out, then winced. “I mean – he died of a heart attack four years ago. He hasn’t touched me in five.”

“Oh, Tony,” Steve murmured, eyes scanning over the scars again. “I – I can't imagine what that would have been like. You didn’t deserve that.”

Tony blinked at him in surprise. “What?” he asked dumbly – not something often applicable to him.

Steve frowned, leaning up and kissing Tony lightly. “I said you didn’t deserve that,” Steve repeated, running a hand through Tony’s hair. “No one does, but you especially not. But then, I'm a little biased.”

Tony’s confused look disappeared into an ecstatic beam and he tackled Steve onto the bed in a deep, searching kiss. “Thank you, thank you,” Tony breathed in between following kissed on Steve’s lips, his arm tightly wrapped around his neck.

“For what?” Steve gasped, arms holding Tony close to him by the waist. Without fabric blocking the way, Steve could feel the rough, broken skin on Tony’s back, but that wasn’t important just then.

“Everybody just says they’re sorry,” Tony explained before ducking down to suck a mark of his own onto Steve’s neck. “I don’t need apologies,” Tony finished, lips smacking as he detached from Steve’s neck, grinning slyly at the super soldier. “Don’t need to be treated like glass.”

“I know the scars have always been there,” Steve rumbled, gasping airily when Tony started to trail kisses and bits down Steve’s chest. “The only thing that’s changed is I'm just seeing them now. Why would they change how I treated you?”

“You’re perfect,” Tony decided, lips wrapping around Steve’s nipple. Steve arched into the warm mouth around him, but Tony was already moving down.

Steve groaned. “Such a tease, Tones,” he managed, hands burying into Tony’s hair as he moved further up the bed, dragging Tony with him, so they were both laying fully on the bed, Tony on top of him.

“It’s been said it’s one of my best qualities,” Tony snarked, tilting his head to look up at Steve with dark eyes. He winked and then Steve let out a half garbled shout because Tony was _licking_ _his abs_ like they were fucking _ice cream._

“God, Tony,” he panted, jerking when the smooth wet appendage dipped into his naval. “ _Don’t stop_ ,” he groaned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tony moaned in response, wiggling over Steve’s torso. “Taste so _good_ baby,” he said, dragging his tongue up the defined ridges and gathering the sweat there.

Steve’s moan was guttural and low, and his fingers and toes curled as the wet warmth moved down his treasure trail, smooth cheeks nuzzling into the peach fuzz there, before he felt warmth just at the top of his jeans. Steve looked down, meaning to offer help in getting off the clothing, but his breath caught in his throat as he was just in time to see Tony wrap his lips around the button and pop it open expertly with his teeth, before nuzzling down and dragging the zipper down with his mouth deftly, hands staying on Steve’s thighs the whole time.

He was Steve Rogers, he’d fought through World War II and survived seventy years under ice; he was fucking _Captain America_ , an iconic figure inspiring generation after generation. But right then, as he watched his boyfriend undress him with nothing but his mouth, Steve was completely at the mercy of a twenty-one-year-old genius, putty in his hands, willing to let himself be shaped into something beautiful that could only come from Tony.

Steve whimpered at the contact of Tony’s warm skin through his boxers and sighed in relief when the restraining jeans were gone. “Oh _god_ ,” he gasped out, and Tony looked up at him, a shit-eating grin firmly plastered to his beautiful face.

“Like that, solider-boy?” he drawled, turning away from Steve and cuddling his cheek to Steve’s straining cock. “Little trick I learned in college.”

“You are perfect,” Steve gasped out. Tony stiffened for a moment before visibly brushing off the compliment as a heat-of-the-moment proclamation that Steve didn’t mean. Well then, he’d just have to prove the genius wrong. “So, so perfect,” Steve moaned, hands moving to Tony’s curls and running through the oh so soft locks, twisting them around calloused fingers. “So beautiful. So amazing.”

Steve thought he felt Tony’s breath hitch, but he couldn’t be sure because the next thing he knew, Tony was pulling down his boxers – still just with his teeth – and suddenly a warm – and talented – tongue was wetting the base of Steve’s cock. Steve’s gasped in shock, jerking up before he controlled his muscles and made himself stay still as Tony pressed kisses up and down Steve’s length.

“So big, Stevie,” Tony murmured, glancing up at Steve with a small smile, his tongue darting out to kitten lick Steve’s slit, earning a strangled moan. “Don’t know if I'm going to get all of you in my mouth,” he murmured, shifting further up, so he was getting a bird’s eye view of Steve’s dick, which seemed to be straining to reach where Tony’s mouth hovered just above, warm breath puffing out in a cruel mimicry of actual contact. “Then again, you never know until you try, do you?” Tony asked breathily, before diving in.

Steve’s lungs punched out and his eyes went crossed as Tony’s slick, warm, _tight_ mouth wound its way expertly down Steve’s length, tongue navigating along the muscle, pushing it this way and that while almost massaging him, pushing down and down, cock disappearing inch by inch passed sinfully stretched pink lips.

Tony paused about three quarters of the way down, brown eyes flickering up to meet Steve’s totally blowout look. Tony fucking _smirked_ around his cock, and his tongue was wrapping around him, caressing and running along his submerged length, teeth expertly held away and his mouth seemed to move like an experienced dancer. Steve could see stars flickering around his eyes and he knew his mouth was hanging open like an idiot, but he just didn’t _care_ , because there was Tony, smirking up at him and doing sinfully perfect things with an unfairly talented tongue.

And then Tony pushed the rest of the way down.

Steve could _feel_ the flex and give of Tony’s throat and it took every ounce of self control that the serum gifted him with – and a good bit that he’d always possessed – not to come down Tony’s throat then and there. Because that would be _embarrassing_ , and he was a grown adult who’d had sex before, not a floundering teen virgin.

But really, coming under the influence of Tony’s angelic mouth in five seconds wouldn’t have embarrassed Steve all that much.

Tony groaned, vibrations sending shockwaves up Steve’s spine, and he nuzzled into the soft hairs at the base of Steve’s dick. His tongue flattened and pushed hard against Steve’s member and Steve jerked, groaning low and loud, his fingers tightening in Tony’s hair hard enough that it had to be painful. Steve was about to let go when Tony bucked into the rough touch, and Steve absolutely _had_ to make him do that again. Sure enough, Tony bucked on his cock again, mouth slipping up a few inches, exposing the slick skin to the chill air and earning a bodily shudder from Steve.

“Oh, so, so perfect,” Steve groaned, hips twitching, Tony encouraged the movement, sliding his hands under Steve’s thighs and pushing up as he recaptured the lost inches. “So good, so good, baby, so perfect,” Steve panted, letting his hips move under Tony’s direction.

Tony hummed and _wow,_ Steve had been going to all the wrong people when he’d been given head before, because it seemed Tony was just a genius in more trades than one.

Slowly, Steve started to thrust shallowly into Tony’s mouth, trusting Tony’s hands to direct him if he got to rough. Steve was big and no one prior to Tony had actually gotten all of him down before, so he knew better than to shove his cock in as far as it could go, like his instincts screamed for him to do. He knew better than that, but oh god did he _want_ to.

Steve couldn’t describe what Tony did with his tongue next, but he was _done_. Some crazy twist/lick/suck from Tony and Steve was sure his resulting groan could be heard in the next apartment and he tugged tightly on Tony’s hair as he came powerfully.

Tony moaned happily and sucked hard, riding Steve through his orgasm and milking him for everything Steve had to give – maybe a little more than that – fingers gently massaging his balls as he pulled Steve through the drop and to the other side.

Finally, Steve’s body went completely lax and Tony pulled off his now soft cock, panting heavily against Steve’s hip, fingers gripping the soldier’s hips and he gasped for air he hadn’t remembered to breathe since he’d been sucking Steve. Steve’s fingers moved across Tony’s scalp as his eyes closed. He gently massaged the abused skin, fingers then tripping down the side of Tony’s face. He smiled a bit when he felt Tony’s tongue flick out and lick his finger.

“Come up here,” Steve grunted, pulling halfheartedly at Tony’s shoulders.

“But the view down here is so pretty,” Tony groused, but he slowly crawled himself up Steve’s body until he was sprawled over the soldier. Only then did Steve realize Tony was still wearing jeans – though he’s unbuttoned them at some point to loosen the pressure – and he was still hard. Steve’s hand fumbled down Tony’s body, intent on at least giving him at least a sloppy hand job, but Tony caught his wrist and pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“I’m good,” he murmured. “I’ll explain it later but… I don’t always finish like that.” Tony yawned, his body growing heavier over Steve’s as he slipped into sleep. “But trust me, I'm more than good.'”

Steve listened to Tony and moved his hands to Tony’s hips and waist and the genius slowly drifted off. “That was the best blow job I have ever gotten,” Steve mumbled, kissing Tony’s cheek. “You are amazing.”

“Full of surprises, I am,” Tony slurred, grinning. “Show you a few more in the morning, yeah? But now… sleep.”

Steve couldn’t help but agree and his arms tightened around Tony as the genius finally fell away. Just before Steve followed, his lips moved, seemingly of their own accord.

“I love you,” he whispered, before joining Tony in the land of the asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of past child abuse, scars, and smut. Drop a comment down below asking for a non graphic summary of the chapter if you don't want to read any of that.
> 
> Next update: Friday


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the title of this fic comes from the song "Anthem" by Leonard Cohen

The next morning, for the first time, Steve woke up before Tony did. Steve had been surprised the first time he’d slept over when he woke up alone. With the serum he didn’t need very much sleep at all, but Tony just… decided not to. Not because he didn’t _need_ to, but because he seemed to wholeheartedly detest even the concept of not doing something for any kind of extended period of time. Steve woke up most mornings and wandered out into the kitchen, finding a perfectly – magically, Steve thought; Tony had a gift and that gift was making coffee (and giving blowjobs, apparently) – brewed cuppa and Tony moving about and cursing as he built something amazing in his workshop. Steve would wrap his arms around the genius’s shoulders and Tony would sigh annoyed at the interruption, but he always, _always_ melted into the embrace and pressed a kiss to Steve’s jaw with a soft smile, before starting in on his rant about whatever wasn’t working right with his chosen project.

But this morning, Steve wakes up to a peculiar and completely unfamiliar warmth by his side. It isn’t unpleasant – is probably one of the most comforting things he’s ever felt really – but it is unfamiliar. Soft, warm light melts through the curtains lighting the room gently. And there’s Tony. He’s curled into a ball, pressed tightly against Steve’s side, head secured into the dip between the super soldier’s neck and shoulders, hands pushed under his waist like he’s searching for warmth. His scars are completely visible, but in the early morning rays the marks look so old. Relics of a regrettable past, but nothing more. Even the mark on his arm, _Tony, l_ ooks like something ancient even with its harsh red lines that look like they still hurt.

Steve had wrapped his arm around Tony, protecting him against his side. As he watches Tony – finally relaxed in sleep, happy – his hand drifts up and his fingers touch the scar softly, tracing. Why would Tony’s dad carve the name into his arm? It could’ve been some kind of brand marking Tony to him – and Steve swallows bile at the thought – but if that were the case, “Obi” or “Stanley” would’ve made more sense, not Tony’s own name.

Steve decides not to think on it and his arm falls away. Instead he focused on the way Tony looks. Seeing Tony when he isn’t bouncing around is always strange, but he looks so peaceful right now, body finally without tension. It relaxes Steve himself to see it. Tony’s features are lax other than the smallest smile sitting on his lips, like he’s dreaming of sweet cakes and sleepy Sunday mornings. Which reminds Steve….

Craning his neck, Steve lets out a groan when he sees the clock on Tony's nightstand, but it comes out as more of a rumble. Tony hums happily at the feeling and pushes closer to Steve, still mostly asleep. Steve chuckles and gently kisses Tony’s forehead. Tony stirs again, hands tightening on Steve’s waist before he blinks sleepily and looks up, smiling almost on instinct when he sees the older man.

“Hmm, go to sleep, soldier-boy,” he mumbles, burying his face back into Steve’s skin. It dawns on Steve for the first time that he’s completely nude under the sheet. He doesn’t normally sleep in the buff, but he finds that with Tony’s own body heating him, it isn’t anywhere near uncomfortable.

“I’d love to,” Steve says melancholy, kissing the top of his boyfriend’s head, before starting to wiggle out of the sudden octopus grip Tony has on him. “But I have a meeting with my boss, and I might be late if I don’t leave now.”

Tony mumbles incoherently but releases his grip on Steve, sinking his face into his pillow instead. Steve chuckles at the undeniably adorable mess that Tony is in the mornings. He runs a hand down Tony’s back, noting the scars there. A few are clearly from knife strikes, and it looks like he’s had welts that scared over. Others… others are most likely from a whip. Steve swallows hard and looks away, fisting his hands for a moment before shaking off the useless rage and standing up. As he threads his belt back through its loops, Tony turns his head and watches him.

"When are you free?” he asks around a yawn, turning over onto his back and stretching like a cat in the sun. At some point during the night he lost his jeans, so he’s only wearing tight boxers, and Steve revels in the sight of golden skin on cream-colored sheets for a moment before answering.

“It’s movie night with my team, so not until tomorrow at least,” Steve said as he pulled on his shirt. Clint was going to take great joy when Steve showed up to their meeting with Fury in the same clothes he’s been wearing the day before – he always did. Steve should leave a backpack here or something.

“We need to talk,” Tony muttered, arching off the bed in a stretch. It was hard to believe he wasn’t showing off for Steve, but the soldier knew that Tony wasn’t, almost completely unaware of how his beautiful body affected others. “Lunch tomorrow, babe?” he asks, settling back down on the bed and turning on his side.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, leaning over to kiss Tony softly, before sitting on the bed and pulling on his shoes. “If I can't make it, I’ll call you.”

“Same here,” Tony slurs, eyes flickering before shutting.

“Good bye, Tones,” Steve says, kissing Tony’s forward again. The genius hums happily and pries his eyes open to smile at Steve. “Get some more sleep.”

“Bye, soldier-boy,” he says, before closing his eyes.

Steve wears the warm smile that falls over his lips with the words throughout brewing his coffee and hailing a cab to a street away from SHIELD’s HQ. He jogs up the road, pleased to see that he’s not late, and gets into the building with a flash of his ID. He pointlessly tries to smooth his clothing of its many creases – definitely not up to Captain America standards – but he knows when he enters the already full meeting room that everyone in there – possibly sans Thor – knows exactly what he’s been doing. He’s never seen so many suggestively raised eyebrows as he slinks in and takes his seat, glad Fury isn’t there to see what is essentially his walk of shame.

“Have fun last night?” Clint asks, grinning, and Steve knows that his blush gives him away completely. “Aw Cap, you old dog,” Clint laughs, punching his shoulder a little harder than necessary and laughing.

Natasha is glaring at Steve. “You had sex?” she asks bluntly and Steve’s face is definitely tomato red and at least three hundred degrees as everyone turns to him.

He opens his mouth to speak, but before he gets anything out, Fury is storming into the room, cloak billowing. Steve used to assume that when authority figures ‘stormed’ into a room, something was wrong, but he’s come to accept that in this case it’s just how Fury walks.

“Avengers,” he greets briskly, before turning on the screen. A picture of Spiderman slinging from a building popped up on the screen. “Spiderman and Iron Man were reportedly seen together halting an armored truck filled with explosives that was about to crash into a children’s hospital, as I'm sure you’ve heard about,” he said dryly. “Predictably, this has sent their public images skyrocketing in popularity, meaning they are becoming more prominent public figures.”

Clint rolled his eyes and propped his feet on the table. “Sorry Nick, but they’ve always been public figures, since Spidey started out. Iron Man’s been America’s number one super hero for five months running. Not much to do at this point,” he declared, folding his hands behind his head.

“I have to agree, Director,” Thor said. “I still see no reason that we should be wary of our heroic comrades. They have done nothing but defend this fine city.”

“They’re vigilantes,” Fury said, jaw clicking shut in distaste. “They obey nobody’s rules but their own – they’re loose cannons. No one dictates their moves and if they go bad, there is nothing to stop them before they get out of hand.”

“What do you want us to do about it?” asked Steve, leaning his elbows against the table and rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “Like you said, everyone loves them. If we take them down or apprehend them, then we’re going to be getting a lot of negative attention unnecessarily headed our way.”

“We’ve been going over this for weeks,” Natasha added. “You have agents stationed on Spiderman’s tail twenty four seven and-”

“We still have no clue who Iron Man is,” Fury finished in a growl. “He could level this city, and we don’t know that he won’t.”

“He saved this city from being leveled,” Bruce objected. “It’d take a pretty big change of heart to go from jumping in front of the bullet to be the one pulling the trigger don’t you think?”

“Iron Man is a great help to this city,” Fury conceded. “But we need to know his identity. That is non-negotiable. Next time you meet him on the field, I want all of you to either tale him home if the press is surrounding you, or apprehend him and bring him into SHIELD. The information will not go against him, we simply need to have it to appease the WSC. Understand?”

The question was directed at Steve and after a considering pause, the soldier nodded. “We will not be using force,” he amends. “If we bring him in it will be on his terms.”

Fury’s lip twitches angrily, but he’s a smart enough man to know not to go against a band of superheroes. “Fine,” he bites out. “I don’t care how you get it, so long as you do. Natasha, stay back.”

The team reads the dismissal correctly and they stand, all filing behind Steve except Natasha as he walks to the door. But then Fury speaks, shock evident in his words.

“Is that the outfit you wore yesterday, Captain Rogers?” he asks, and Steve instantly feels himself flushing painfully as he freezes in his step.

Clint sniggers behind his hand, looking at his boss. “Oh yeah, Captain America got lucky last night. Did no one send you the memo?” he asks cheekily.

Despite his burning embarrassment, Steve takes a second to revel in the shocked look on Nick’s face. Everyone is always so shocked when he does something that doesn’t conform with the polite, shy war hero they expect – well, the Avengers are used to it by now, and Tony never expected anything of him, but everyone else. He can't curse without dropping every jaw in SHIELD.

Nick recovers quickly of course, but they’re all smiling, even Natasha; they surprised Nick Fury – accomplishment of the century (Steve would know). “Well, who was the lucky lady, Capt.?” he asks, raising a brow and leaning against his desk.

Steve’s lips twitch in annoyance at the assumption. “I don’t particularly think that is your business, Director,” he says, maybe a little too stiffly, but he can't help but feel protective over Tony.

“Quite the contrary,” Fury contradicts, straightening up at Steve’s hostility. “SHIELD needs to know so we know that you haven't been compromised by a spy.”

“I checked it out, Fury,” Natasha butts in. “Not a spy.”

Fury studies her closely before nodding and turning around. “Be wary, Captain,” he says over his shoulder. “Engaging in a relationship with a civilian is difficult and dangerous. They are a liability to you, and you put them in danger by associating yourself with them.

“Warning noted,” Steve growls before storming from the office. Fuck him if he lets Nick Fury get a say in his relationship with Tony. The afterglow of the previous night and the sweetness of the morning were gone in an instant.

They wait in the lobby until Natasha returns, telling them Fury was just checking up on details from her most recent mission before they leave. His team followed him silently out the doors of SHIELD and they all piled into their SUV, Bruce driving. “I do not believe his intention was to offend, Captain,” Thor says and Bruce drives out of the lot.

Steve sighs and rubs his forehead, slouching against the wall of the car. “I know,” he sighs. “He’s right, too. I just didn’t want to bring my work into this for as long as I could avoid it.”

They nod understandingly before Clint speaks. “Sooo,” he asks, dragging the word out as a grin slips over his lips. “How was it?”

Steve shot him a glare and ran his hand through his hair, hopping to smooth it down. Based off Natasha’s amused smirk, he’d probably just made it worse. “It wasn’t my first time,” he defended, earning laughs from the team. Steve huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Stupid rumors,” he grumbled.

Thor slammed a hand down on his shoulder in the Asgardian’s version of a friendly pat. “We are quite aware of your adulthood and the media’s incorrect expectations and assumptions,” he assured, but his eyes were shining with amusement.

“Gee, thanks,” Steve snarked, rolling his eyes, but he smiled too.

“You never answered the question,” Clint singsonged, grinning like a fool.

\Steve sighed, slumping low in his seat and closing his eyes. Then he smiled, just a little. “Literally best ever,” he admitted. Clint hooted loudly while Thor laughed, Bruce blushed, and even Natasha smiled and quirked her eyebrow, before it faded.

“So are you guys getting serious?” she asked, back straightening and hands clasping in front of her.

Steve watched her warily for a second before he nodded. “Yeah, we are,” he said seriously. “I really like him and he likes me. I’m happy when I'm with him. He makes me happy.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Has he told you about his past?” she asked.

Steve went instantly from slouched in his seat to ramrod straight and glaring with fire burning in his eyes. “What do you know?” he snarled, leaning forward. If Tony didn’t share it with someone personally, it wasn’t anyone else’s business what had happened to him. If Natasha had invaded his privacy, dug so deep she found his secrets…. That wasn’t something Steve could forgive and forget.

Natasha leaned back and her eyes widened and the air in the van thickened with tension. Natasha quickly regained her calm and studied Steve calmly. “Just that he acted very questionably when he was in college,” she said loosely. “Why? What do _you_ know?” she asked suspiciously.

Steve almost growled at her, but then there was a hand gripping his shoulder and when he whipped to face Clint, who was watching him with wide concerned eyes. All of Steve’s anger melted away and in its place was only startling, terrifying realization.

“Oh god,” he choked out, turning from his concerned friend and dropping his face into his hands. He felt his shoulders start to shake. He’d meant what he said, of course he meant it but – but Tony’s father had – he had- “Oh my _god_.”

“Steve?” Steve, what’s wrong?” asked Bruce, pulling the van over to the side of the road so he could turn around and look at Steve worriedly.

“I – he – how-” Steve stuttered, shaking his head in denial. Tony had… Tony’s father had…. Steve didn’t even want to _think_ about it. He’d been preoccupied, both this morning and last night, by Tony himself, living proof that he was fine and happy in life, but now, when the realization of his past fully hit Steve…. “I….”

“Is this another situation where I'm the only one socially inapt enough to have no clue what the fuck is happening?” asks Clint nervously, rubbing the space between Steve’s shoulder blades a little roughly as he desperately looks at the other Avengers.

Natasha stands up smoothly and, nudging Thor out of the way, sits down next to Steve and loops an arm over his shoulders, bending down so her face is next to him. “Are you okay?” she asks, voice quiet but firm. Steve shakily nods, covering his face with his hands. “Is Tony okay?” Nat asks. Steve’s pause is much longer before he nods again, a small jerk of his head. “Do you want to talk about it?” Steve immediately shakes his head, knowing he would never tell Tony’s secrets to anyone, even his own family. “Okay then,” Natasha says, straightening up, and Steve follows her a little hesitantly. “Feeling better?” she asks briskly to hide the worry in her eyes.

Steve coughs and nods sheepishly, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Sorry,” he croaks, looking out the window. Bruce slowly restarts the van and they drive off towards the Tower.

“Don’t be,” Clint says dismissively – he and Natasha are like twins in the way they both fervently refuse to show affection and worry for their teammates. “Shit has obviously happened and if you’re not cool with sharing, that’s fine.”

“But we will be here if you ever want to,” Bruce adds, glancing in the rearview mirror to meet Steve’s red rimmed eyes.

Steve nods and smiles gratefully. “Thanks,” he says softly. “That really means a lot, guys.”

Natasha is watching him with a critiquing eye. “Did something happen with Tony?” she asks bluntly.

Steve pulls back a little. “No,” he objects, and then pauses. He shakes his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Natasha watches him for a moment longer before giving him an accepting nod and looking out the window.

Back at the Tower, they all eat lunch together and decide to spend the rest of the day marathoning Transformers. Movie nights are always peaceful, calming events, and after Steve’s mini-freak-out, everyone seemed convinced he needed some serious down time. And if they were right, and Steve felt completely collected and happy by the end of the second movie, they didn’t need to know that. Clint’s ego was big enough already.

That night, when Steve’s back in his own bed for the first time that week – yes, it’s only Tuesday, but the fact remains true – he can't help but curl over and stretch his arm over the cold, empty space like Tony should be there even though Tony has never even been to the Tower – well, not the Avengers portion, at least.

“I miss you,” Steve whispers, as if Tony could hear him from across the city, and he falls asleep.

 +++

It takes Steve three seconds after waking up to know that he never wants to endure the morning without Tony’s warmth by his side ever again. He turns up the heat in his room to ridiculous temperatures, but he still can't stop shivering. His coffee is scalding when he swallows it down, and it isn’t even in the ballpark of the magnificence of Tony’s. Every inch of him is screaming for the younger man to be in his arms.

The team, sans Bruce, senses his jitteriness the instant he comes in from his morning run – which did nothing to stem the horrible squelching ways his insides feel – and began to ask him what’s wrong, until Clint silences them with a laugh.

“Oh come on, guys, don’t you get it?” he asks with a grin, and by the spark that flickers on in Nat’s eyes she’s caught his drift. “He’s missing his boo.”

Steve glares and if he were Tony, he would’ve stuck his tongue out at the archer. “Tony and I are going out for lunch later,” he says instead, focusing on nice warm feeling thinking of Tony creates in his stomach rather than his obnoxious teammate.

“I find thine tale of love truly inspiring, good captain,” Thor reports, slamming – setting really, for Thor standards – his hand down on the table. “It is a story of perseverance and romance and I believe it is what all Midgardians, with lives as short as yours, should strive for. A partner to share your numbered years with,” he said, a strange mix of puppy-adorable and powerful-god serious. Steve swallowed hard and nodded respectfully.

“I’m lucky to have found him,” he agreed, smiling softly.

Natasha was eyeing him in that peculiar way again. “We need to meet him,” she declared, instantly silencing Steve’s instinctual protests with a glare. “Even if we’ve established he isn’t a threat to the Avengers or Captain America, he could very well be a threat to Steve Rogers,” she said, eyes unwavering. “You might be in love, but we don’t even know him. And maybe you don’t either.”

Steve glares. “I thought you were over the he’s a spy thing,” he muttered, opening the cabinets and pulling out a random box of Rice Krispies – which, coincidentally happened to be Tony’s favorite – and quickly shoved them back, opting out to grab a cup of yogurt instead.

“Just because he isn’t a spy doesn’t mean he’s an acceptable partner for you,” Natasha answered back smoothly. “As friends, it’s our duty to screen all your boyfriends and girlfriends, see if they’re good or if you can do better.”

Clint snorted and grinned. “I think it’s hard to do better than attractive genius twink, Nat,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. Steve frowned slightly at him even as a blush rose to his cheeks.

“Tony is not a twink,” he defended, but his lips were twitching with the want to smile. “And I don’t need your approval to date him,” he added, leaning against the counter as he opened his strawberry yogurt. “You aren’t my parents.”

“But we are your family, good captain,” Thor boomed, clapping his hands. “I know not of Midgardian rituals, but on Asgard the family of the courted must meet the pursuer and the eldest of the clan challenged the other to a fight-”

“Or we can just bring him here and order pizza,” Bruce suggested, pinching Thor’s side. “Whichever you prefer.” Thor looked a little put out when the others laughed, but he was soon smiling again. It was just the way Thor was.

“Aye, I procure imposing Asgardian customs upon unsuspecting mortals shall probably not go over well,” he agreed amicably. Steve had little say in the matter after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: Wednesday


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, with this chapter we are more than half way through the first part of the entire story, which will probably be two or three parts in total.
> 
> EDIT: There were some mistakes in this chapter, but they have been fixed. Sorry!

Steve woke up slowly. He squinted his eyes open against the light, tinged gold by Tony’s curtains, and stretched out over the soft, silky sheets of Tony’s bed. A quick glance at the digital clock on Tony’s nightstand tells him that it’s just passed six in the morning. It’s a bit later than Steve usually wakes up, which means Tony is definitely busy with some project or other by now.

With a groan Steve rolls up into a sitting position and curls his toes in the softness of Tony’s carpeted floor. He contemplates whether he should go on a run now or save it for later in the day. If he calls, he might be able to get Natasha to come meet him in central park and they can go a few laps and then spar. That’s always fun, and they always draw a bit of a crowd to watch the faux-fight.

Stretching his legs out over the soft sheet, Steve decides that first things first, he needs coffee. After that he’ll figure out how he’s going to spend the morning.

Pushing himself out of bed and onto Tony’s plush carpet, Steve moves out into the hallway of the apartment. The tell tale signs of metal work aren’t banging out from Tony’s workshop like usual, which probably means Tony is spending his morning coding something. Honestly, Steve wishes he knew enough of modern technology that he could follow Tony’s work, but as it is, he’s left so far behind in the dust he can't even make the attempt. Still, he loves listening to Tony ramble.

Moving down the hallway, Steve enters the kitchen and is struck by the sudden realization that he can't smell coffee wafting through the space. Quickly moving to Tony’s insanely high-tech machine, he sees that not only is empty – which would be unlikely, seeing as Tony always makes sure there’s at least a mug left for Steve – but no effort to make the drink has been made, and the pot is clean.

Surprised and starting to feel a little bit uneasy, Steve turns on his heel and moves back to the door to Tony’s workshop. He pauses with his hand on the handle though.

Steve has never been in Tony’s workshop when the genius wasn’t with him. Tony has never expressly said that Steve couldn’t go in if he wanted to, but it seems like an invasion of privacy. The ‘shop is Tony’s safe space; it’s where he can zone out for hours if he needs to. It’s where he revolutionizes design after design, and it’s where he’s built things that have changed the world. It feels… wrong, to be invading that space.

Steve shakes his head. Tony trusts Steve, and he’s probably in the room anyway. Steve has just started to turn the handle when the sound of the front door banging open reaches. Curses soon fill the apartment and Steve drops his hand from the door’s knob and turns to face the other end of the hallway with a smile, just as Tony stumbles into view, laden down with shopping bags and completely unbalanced.

Tony catches sight of Steve and breaks into a wide smile. “I went grocery shopping!” he declares, and then spills about five of the bags' contents onto the floor. “Fuck!” he exclaims, bending down to pick up the bags and dropping everything else in the process.

A lone tomato rolls to a stop right in front of Steve’s feet, and when Steve’s eyes slowly drift from it back to Tony – who is scrambling around trying to shove blueberries and crackers into a bag – he bursts out laughing.

Tony looks up and glares at him for a second before it softens, and he drops the carton of orange juice he was holding in favor of falling to his side on the floor and joining Steve in laughter.

The warm feeling filling the apartment and Steve’s stomach makes him forget the rest of the morning’s events as he moves forward to capture Tony’s lips in a kiss.

+++

 _"Giant squids,_ ” a voice sings across the hacked comm. line, “fuck _ing up the streets of NYC.”_

Steve ignores the crooning – which he is now able to recognize as Elton John’s “Rocket Man” thanks to Iron Man’s furious effort to introduce him to classic music – in order to decapitate one of the slimy cephalopods that their uninvited guest is singing about.

Iron Man continues to sing his impromptu parody as he soars about, burning the crawling squids to cinders with the attack that he calls ‘repulsor technology.’ Steve can't even fathom to understand how it works, but he knows the blue blasts are also what enables him to fly.

“Nice to see you, Tin Man!” Clint calls out through the comms. Steve sees him shoot a writhing mass of tentacles with an explosive arrow. “Been a while since you’ve graced us with your presence.”

“I’ve been doing solo stuff, thought you could handle yourselves,” Iron Man says, dodging an attack from the largest squid, which is currently trying to eat an apartment building and doesn’t seem to appreciate the metal armor buzzing around its head like a fly. “Apparently I was wrong.”

"Chatter on the comms,” Steve snaps out. He doesn’t bother telling Iron Man to get lost – this is the fourth time the man of metal has joined them in a fight, and even if he does his best at being a distraction, he’s a damn good help. Besides, the super-soldier is more than a bit distracted. Not only is the conversation with Fury about apprehending Iron Man ringing in Steve’s head, but the fight is raging just a block away from Tony’s apartment.

Steve barely notices the longer than normal pause between his admonishment and Iron Man’s usual witty comeback. “Oh Cap, you’re warming up to me,” the altered voice coos, finally delivering the killing blow to the enormous squid monster. “You didn’t even tell me to get lost or go home!”

“Just focus on the squids, Iron Man,” Steve grumbles, doing a quick roll that takes him out of the direct path of destruction that a particularly agile squid was creating. Jumping to his feet and swinging his shield in a perfect arc, Steve cuts off all the arms if the monster in one sweep. “Widow, what’s your position,” he barks after a quick sweep of the area that he can see. Clint’s perched on the top of a three-story rise, picking off the lone squids trying to move past the hastily assembled barriers the NYPD had set up to keep them contained. Thor is standing in the middle of the largest tangle of squids, gleefully squishing the things with his hammer, already covered in purple goo and seemingly loving the heck out of life, judging by his happy bellowing. Bruce had sat this fight out, saying Hulk wouldn’t necessarily be a great help in the situation. Natasha was the only one Steve couldn’t account for.

“Evacuating a few strangling civvies,” Natasha reports, and Steve lets out a small breath of relief. “Heading towards the west barrier.”

“Turn North,” Clint intones. “It’s the clearest path, and the West is currently a bit swamped.”

“Roger,” Natasha says.

“Aw, you guys are such a cute little functional team,” Iron Man coos, and Steve watches him shoot out from a parking garage, gold and red metal stained slightly with the purple goop that these things seem to secrete as blood. Iron Man flies up, spinning, arms extended to the side and sunlight gleaming off the iron plating. Steve’s breath momentarily catches – regardless of whether or not Iron Man is an ally or a loose cannon, Steve cannot deny how beautiful he finds the machine. The way he flies, it looks like a dance. It looks like freedom.

“Watch it, Cap!” Iron Man shouts suddenly, freezing in his spins, and actually fear coloring his robotic tone. Steve reacts just quick enough to slice off the large tentacle that had been reaching for him, before making quick work of the rest of the monster. “Geez, Red White and Blue, pay a bit of attention,” he snarks, voice back to normal so quickly that Steve wonders if he imagined it. Before the captain can ask any question, Iron Man is rocketing off again, repulsors blasting that brilliant blue light as he takes out a horde of squids in one quick swoop.

Steve doesn’t let it distract him this time and quickly returns to the fray, getting covered in his fair share of the purple stuff. But, as usually happens in those fights when Iron Man graces them with his presence, Steve finds himself thinking of the day he first saw Iron Man. The Battle of New York, when the fabled metal man had rounded the corner and saved Steve’s hide from one of Loki’s aliens. And then later, flying with falter into an open, black abyss, father away from the only life any of them knew than Steve was from his proper time period. Iron Man was sassy, and distracting, and probably a bit crazy (then again, who in their profession wasn’t?) but Steve liked to think that he knew a hero when he saw one.

And Iron Man was most defiantly that – a superhero.

“Looks like that’s all of them, ain’t it,” Iron Man proclaims, landing in the middle of the street. He quickly looks down and then groans and lifts one booted foot. A long string of purple slime keeps it connected to the pavement. Iron Man fake gags. “That’s ratchet,” he says, turning on his repulsors and burning off the slime. “Truly disgusting. Anyone else hungry? There’s a great shawarma joint down the block?”

“How do you go from talking about disgusting purple goop to discussing lunch options?” Clint asks.

Iron Man laughs and bolts up into the air to do a fancy loop-de-loop in the air as Clint climbs down the fire escape from the building he’d taken vantage on. Steve thinks he sees a flash of motion in the spot Iron Man had vacated, before brushing it off.

He heard Natasha mutter a curse and raised his hand to his comms. “Widow, you alright?” he barks.

It takes a moment but then Natasha grumbles, “Fine, just got covered in a bit of the lovely leftovers of our cephalopod friends.”

“Right,” says Steve, chuckling a bit. “Hawkeye, you good?”

“Dandy!” Clint announces, waving exaggeratedly so Steve can see him from the other end of the street.

Steve smirks. “Anyone got a visual on Thor?” he asks.

“Flew off a minute ago,” Iron Man says, still doing tricks for Clint’s amusement. “Hollering about getting a drink to celebrate a fight well fought.”

Steve hesitates to accept an answer from someone not technically a member of their team. “I can confirm, Cap,” Clint says, and then Steve curtly nods.

“Alright, Avengers dismissed,” he said. “Debrief tomorrow, once we’ve got Thor back.”

Clint whoops excitedly. “Great fighting with you guys,” he says. “See you next time some dejected goth teen feels like taking over the city.”

“I thought we were getting shawarma,” Clint pouts, jumping up and trying to grab onto Iron Man’s boot.

“Sorry, can't, gotta fly,” Iron Man laughs, bobbing in and out of Clint’s reach for a moment before he puts on the pressure and flies off, just as the hacked comms begin blasting Iron Man by _Black Sabbath._

Steve laughs along with Clint, but Natasha remains silent. Looking around, Steve is reminded of something that makes his heart clench in sudden fear.

Pulling off his helm and dropping it to the ground, Steve pulls out the cell phone tucked into a protective pouch on his belt. It’s unprofessional to be using it in a non-emergency situation when he’s technically still in uniform, but Steve doesn’t care.

He gets to his contacts list with little trouble, and thumbs through it until he arrives at the name he wants.

He hits the button and anxiously holds the phone to his ear.

Tony never picks up.

Steve calls twice more and leaves one rushed and worried message about seeing a news reports that said there was a fight and evacuation outside Tony’s apartment. He asks if he’s okay and tells him to call back as soon as possible.

Logically, Steve knows that Tony is probably at work right now, completely unaware of the genetically mutated blobs that attempted to destroy his building, but Steve’s heart still races. It’s rare Tony doesn’t pick up his phone, and that has him worried.

But not even twenty minutes later, right after Steve’s arrived back at his apartment, his phone chirps in with a text.

_**[FROM Tony Stanley]**_

_ << jst saw the news, babe. im fine, just hav meetigns all day sorry>>_

Steve sighs in relief and finally relaxes. Honestly, he doesn’t know quite what he’d do if Tony was hurt. The very thought scares him more than facing on an entire army of those squids would have.

Steve doesn’t know what to do with this realization, so he decides to let it rest for now. Steve gets the feeling that sooner or later, everything will come to a head, but for now, he’s going to let himself be as happy as he can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: Monday


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings the the description, they contain minor spoilers

Since the first time Steve had seen Tony without a shirt on – and subsequently gotten the best blowjob of his life – he had started noticing a particular trait Tony had; the more comfortable he was in a situation or with the people around him, the more skin he showed off, and vice versa. It was an insight to the nearly impenetrable masks Tony had that Steve was seeing past a little further every day, one of his more obvious tells, though you had to be around him for a while before it became clear.

This was the reason why Tony dropping down onto the couch next to Steve and slinging an arm over his shoulder made Steve so happy; Tony was only wearing boxers and a tank top. That particular line of thought had then led to Steve wondering if Tony would ever be at-ease enough to shed the top around him, and then, maybe the boxers, and Steve getting a fairly awkward and much too noticeable boner, seemingly just from sitting next to his boyfriend. Tony, as perfect as he was though, had just smiled and given Steve a fantastic – if messy – hand job while they sloppily made out. When Steve had offered to reciprocate, Tony had shyly agreed. Afterwards, when they had been lying together, sticky with sweat and come, Tony had explained why the first night he had declined Steve’s offer to get him off. To Tony, real, meaningful sex didn’t end with orgasm, it ended when both parties were satisfied, and sometimes he didn’t want to actually come because of something to do with hormone balances that Steve didn’t quite follow. Nevertheless, Steve had accepted with a kiss.

Now, knowing that Tony seeks comfort in layers, Steve looked at Tony’s current outfit with slight displeasure and sadness, but the fact that Tony had even agreed to Steve’s proposition was enough to keep him happy. Tony was dressed in thick worker jeans, bunched at the cuffs over his worn combat boots – fully laced. He was wearing a white long sleeved shirt under a plain black t-shirt under a green and black plaid button up. So yeah, it was safe to assume Tony was fairly nervous about this.

Steve curled his fingers with Tony’s as the cab inched down the New York streets toward the Tower. “Don’t worry,” he said, kissing the corner of Tony’s mouth, “they’ll love you.”

Tony gifted Steve with a strained smile before kissing him harder and a little desperately – not that Steve was complaining.

It had taken a while before the Avengers had come up with a reasonable sounding explanation as to why Steve was living with four other fully grown adults on the top ten floors of the most expensive building in New York, and the head quarters of Tony’s place of work. And yeah, when Steve actually thought about it, _that made absolutely no sense_. Tony already had some knowledge that what Steve did for the military was heavily classified, and, after a short fight about Steve having lied to him and a great bout of angry sex, Tony had agreed that so long as Steve never lied to him about either of theirs safety, or about who Steve was as a person, he didn’t mind. So Steve had heavily implied – although not outright said – that this was something military based.

In the end, they’d told Tony that they worked and sporadically lived on one floor of the Tower, and that their work was funded largely by SI. Steve had told Tony that the rest had homes in other places – not exactly a lie, they lived on other floors – but that he hadn’t seen the point of getting a place outside of the luxurious apartment. They’d chosen Steve’s floor so he could bring Tony there later if he so choose to. Steve was actually rather impressed with the capability of the lie, even if it still made his gut twitch to think of who the lie was directed at.

They got out of the cab a few blocks from the Tower and walked the rest of the way, hands still clasped together, and Steve was gracious enough not to mention the way Tony was squeezing his like a lifeline.

A short walk and a quick elevator ride later they were walking into the main room of Steve’s apartment. Across the floor from them was the rest of Steve’s team.

“Hey guys,” Steve greeted cheerily, confident that this would go well despite Tony’s obvious nerves. He kinda-sort-reallyjustgentlydragged Tony along with him until they were standing in front of the Avengers. “Guys, this is Tony, my boyfriend. Tony this my team, Clint, Thor, Bruce and-”

“Natalie,” said Natasha, smiling sweetly and holding out her hand. “Good to meet you Tony,” she said, and Steve good see how tightly she was squeezing Tony’s hand. Damn.

"Nat,” he said disapprovingly, glaring at her. She quickly let go of Tony’s hand but the fake smile stayed in place.

“Yeah Stevie?” she asked, winding one bouncy curl around her finger and popping the pink gum in her mouth. “What’s up?”

Tony was noticeably flexing his hand by his side and his eyes had widened. Steve glared down his team, furious with Natasha for trying to intimidate Tony so early on. He sighed, dropping his anger when he felt Tony squeeze his hand conspicuously, offering comfort. “Never mind, Nat,” he said, shooting her a look as he steered Tony towards the couches and TV. “Do you guys want to order dinner while we talk?”

Natasha nodded and smiled again. “Pizza good with you, Tony?” she asked, and when Tony nodded, “What kind do you want?”

“…Plain is fine,” Tony said after a moment, and Natasha nodded before flouncing from the room.

By the time Natasha got back and sat down in between Thor and Bruce on the couch opposite from where Steve and Tony sat together, Steve was thoroughly regretting his decision to introduce Tony to all of them at once. It would have been much easier if he introduced them one at a time, starting with Bruce, mellow, easy Bruce, and then Thor who would laugh and cajole, followed by Clint who Tony would hate at first but then warm up to and they would commence taking over the world, and then Natasha, who by this point would have heard all of her teammates' wonderful words on Captain America’s boyfriend.

But no, Steve hadn’t thought and had dumped his poor, insecure, young boyfriend right into a room full of crazy. The lot of them seemed to be staring Tony down, and until that moment it hadn’t occurred to Steve how young Tony was compared to all of them. Though it got complicated when you added an alien and a soldier out of time, Steve or Thor were usually considered the youngest of them, followed by Natasha, Clint, and then Bruce, but Steve was a decade older than Tony and when Thor’s timeline was made to fit a human’s, he was about twenty-five, but looked as old as Steve. So Steve had unintentionally dropped Tony into a room full of hostile/protective strangers about a decade older than him. _Man with a plan my ass_ , Steve thought sullenly.

“So,” said Bruce after a minute of silence, willing to start the conversation, “Steve’s told us you work for SI?”

“Yeah,” said Tony with a nervous bob of his head. “I design a lot of their products – I work in R&D.”

“We know,” said Clint grimly. Steve glared at him.

“You’re pretty young,” said Bruce, even though they were all perfectly aware of Tony’s background.

“Yup,” said Tony, and he wasn’t making eye contact with any of them. “I went to college pretty early and graduated pretty quick too,” he said, pretending like the statement was a comment on his job, rather than his relationship with Steve. “Got a few job offers, but SI was the place I wanted to be.”

Steve was simultaneously proud and concerned over Tony’s complete lack of details – proud, because Tony proved that he wasn’t one to brag to his team, and concerned because Tony had earned the right to brag a little, but never took it.

“MIT, right?” asked Natasha, smiling again, materializing next to the couch and plopping down on it.

Tony looked a stiffened in surprise before he relaxed. “Yeah,” he said, glancing at his boyfriend. “Steve tell you?”

“Nope,” Natasha said sweetly. The intercom doorbell buzzed and Natasha jumped up eagerly. “That’ll be the pizza,” she singsonged. “I’ll get it,” she said skipping from the room. Tony watched her in mild horror.

“So MIT,” said Bruce, struggling with the awkwardness that still enveloped the room as Clint continued to glare menacingly at Tony. All that the assassin was missing was a shotgun that he could be ‘conveniently’ cleaning. “What was that like? And at such a young age?”

Tony seemed to be slowly inching closer to Steve despite the already negative amount of space between them, but he accepted the olive branch. “Yeah, it was pretty crazy,” he said with a strained smile. “Lot of work.”

“And a lot of partying, too, or so I’ve heard,” said Natasha, dropping the pizzas down onto the table, before sitting daintily between the other too. “Saw a lot of not-so-great stuff in magazines,” she said, flipping open one of the boxes and taking out a slice. “Lot of girls. That ones yours,” she said, gesturing at a box with a gleam in her eyes as she took a bite of her vegetarian’s delight.

Steve didn’t have any idea what she was talking about, but Tony clearly did by the viscous blush that covered his cheeks in a second. “I – well… um….” Tony glanced at Steve for a moment before he looked away and slid his hand from Steve’s and went for the box Natasha had directed him too and flipped it open. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, not looking at any of them as he picked out a slice and dropped the lid of the box down.

Bruce took a slice of veggie, and Thor and Clint each took a meat lover’s. Steve wasn’t hungry, so he didn’t take any, figuring he’d have some of Tony’s later. “So what made you change your ways?” asked Natasha, snuggling back against the couch cushions. “You know, go from banging every chick on campus to settling down with your man?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop. As it was, the only sound in the room was Tony swallowing. “What?” he asked, voice a little breathless and strangled. He seemed to move away from Steve, much to the soldier’s distress. He glared furiously at Natasha, who, so far, looked unrepentant.

Tony nervously took a bite of his pizza and then looked at the slice in surprise before swallowing and taking another, smaller bite. Natasha who looked put out for a second but she quickly recovered. “Oh, you know, your last two, three years at college, you slept with _a lot_ of girls? Or did you drink too much and have you forgotten that?”

“Nat.” Steve’s voice was coldly furious in the quiet room and Natasha’s eyes briefly flicked to his before moving back to Tony, who had gone uncomfortably pale. “Tony, I am so sorry,” he murmured, turning to his boyfriend slightly. “We can go, if you-”

“No, no wait, Cap,” said Clint, straightening up. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch and he looked almost as vindictive as Natasha. “Let the boy explain himself.”

Tony shifted, again scooting away from Steve slightly. Thor, still silent, watched the goings on with confusion, probably unsure if this was the customary way Midgardians acted around their friend’s partners. Steve wanted to shoot Natasha for possibly making him think that. Well, really he wanted to shoot her for a bunch of reasons, but he couldn’t list them all out.

“You don’t have to answer,” Steve said. He still didn’t know what they were talking about, but it was clearly something Tony wasn’t comfortable or happy about.

Tony took another bite of his pizza and avoided eye contact before answering. “That was – really not a great point in my life,” he said, voice pitched uncomfortably high. They all listened intently. “I mean… obviously, I'm with Steve now but – I grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, uh, not… not a lot of, uh, gay representation down there, you know….” Steve could see the growing guilt in Natasha’s eyes, but she didn’t stop Tony to apologize. “I went to college young – really young, like, um, puberty young? So, yeah, I had nothing figured out at that point… and my dad… was… not that… supportive? Of that kind of thing? Made his opinions pretty known, anyway. So I kinda… thought if I slept with enough girls I’d fix… the problem.” Tony set down his pizza slice and clasped his hands together, smiling wryly. The sight of it made Bruce flinch. “Needless to say, I’m gay, and those years sucked, and continue to suck as the reputation sticks with me.”

The room was filled with thick, uncomfortable, and near suffocating silence at the end of Tony’s admission. Clint was fidgeting on the floor and stuffing his mouth with his pizza to distract himself. Bruce’s skin had the slightest – the _slightest_ – green tint to it, though Steve didn’t know who exactly he was mad at – Tony’s father, the girls who slept with the underage and hurting boy, Natasha, or Clint; Steve wanted to put a bullet through all of them. Thor had that kicked puppy look he often got when Midgard’s many failing were brought up. Natasha, at least, looked ashamed at her own actions.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up,” she said softly. “That was short-sighted of me.”

Tony chuckled darkly and still didn’t look at any of them. “It’s okay,” he said, “you’re just looking out for Steve.” Because he was a gentleman, he didn’t say, ‘ _No, you really shouldn’t have.’_

Steve absently reached out and picked up an uneaten slice at Tony’s pizza, trying to do something productive on instinct, and brought it to his mouth. Natasha sat up straight and her eyes widened, a warning slipping from her lips – but Steve was already spitting the food out in disgust.

“Oh my _God_ , what is that?” he asked, grabbing a napkin and scrubbing his tongue with it.

Tony looked startled, before he glanced at the pizza. “Yeah, it tasted pretty bad,” he agreed, frowning. “I don’t know how anyone could’ve screwed up plain pizza though.”

Slowly, everyone’s eyes but the oblivious Tony’s drifted towards Natasha, whose skin was only a few shades lighter than her hair. “Nat,” Steve growled, and Tony jerked up at the sound, before glancing at Natasha. “What did you do?”

Natasha winced. “I’m really, _really_ sorry, Tony,” she apologized without answering. “I read about the MIT stunts online and thought you were just using Steve for sex, and I prematurely didn’t like you for that so….”

Clint snatched up a piece of the dish before Steve could warn him off it and bit off the tip, quickly retching it back up. “Fuck!” he exclaimed. “Nat, that’s worse than that pizza in fucking Amsterdam! How much pepper did you put on that?” he demanded, glaring at her. Then he turned to Tony, in what possibly might have been awe. “And how in god’s name did you eat that?” he demanded.

Tony shrank back from the eyes once again on him. “It’s food,” he said quickly. “Edible food. I wasn’t gonna waste it because I didn’t like it.”

Natasha’s guilt turned palpable at Tony’s statement and Steve groaned, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. “ _Why_ did you put a pound of pepper on the pizza?” Steve groaned through his fingers.

He felt Tony’s weight lift from the couch and quickly straightened. “I’m just – I’m gonna go,” said Tony, wincing, and slowly edging his way out of the living room.

Steve jumped to his feet. “No, Tony, you don’t have to-”

“I'm going to anyway,” Tony cut in firmly but apologetically. “I’m going home. Clint, Thor, Bruce, Natasha… well… yeah, I have nothing to say. Goodbye.”

“How do you know my name is Natasha?” Nat blurts out unthinkingly. Her blush returns when Tony turns to look at her. “I told you it was Natalie.”

Tony looks at her in something that might actually be pity, but should be agitation. “Because Steve talks about you,” he says, shaking his head, a frown twisting his lips. “His _best friends_. The fucking _epic_ group of people he hangs out with all the _fucking_ time.” Tony’s voice is growing slightly in anger as he glares at them. “And I listen him. And I listen to him when he talk about _Natasha_ , the super butch, badass strong woman, not the frilly lady with the little girl act.” Tony shakes his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Sorry, but on that matter, you’re act? Just stupid. Bye.”

“Tony,” Steve tries again, reaching for him, but Tony jerks out of his grasp and holds up a hand, shaking his head and not looking at Steve.

“Don’t,” he says. “Sorry about what a fucking disaster this was, Steve. You can – I’ll call you.” And with that, he leaves.

That is, leaves a shakily infuriated Steve with a cowering group of superheroes.

Natasha, brave as she was, spoke first. “I am so, so sorry, Steve,” she said, standing up and raising her hands. “I honestly thought he was just using you for sex after seeing his track record. I didn’t-”

“What didn’t you?” Steve interrupted, voice calm but eyes enveloped with flames. “Didn’t think? Didn’t bother to ask me? Didn’t trust me enough to handle myself?”

Natasha hung her head. “I wrongly assumed-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Natasha!” Steve roared, fists balled at his side as his whole body crackled with furious anger. “I don’t want to hear your flimsy excuses or whatever you have to say! You had no right – no _reason_ to treat him like that!” Steve ran his hands frantically through his hair and breathed deeply, turning his back on the team. “You stepped into a minefield and trod on every bomb there – and they all exploded in his face,” he said coldly. “Fuck of all of you.” Steve strode from the room with that, leaving the imprint of his fury on them with the very rarely used cursing.

He stormed through the halls of his floor until he reached his main bedroom and slammed the door, hard enough he heard the plaster crack. He grabbed his phone of the nightstand, very nearly breaking it – would have too, if Tony hadn’t been the one to design SI's reinforced, heavy-duty phone cases – and quickly found Tony’s contact number.

He paced his room and tugged on his hair, praying under his breath for Tony to _pick up, pick up, please God I am so sorry just let him pick up the phone_. He didn’t though, and Steve called him again. And again. And again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Mentions of homophobia, internalized homophobia, underage sex, underage drinking, and possible dub-con due to internalized homophobia - all of which is vaguely mentioned in reference to the past
> 
> A/N: I love Natasha, but I feel like, with her past, it's likely she could be mislead in the pursuit of protecting the people she cares about and loves, which is why she acts questionably in this chapter. Also, sorry for the cliffhanger.
> 
> Next Update: Monday


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings in the end notes
> 
> Sorry this is a day late

Nearly two hours later, Steve was on his knees in the corner of his room, arms wrapped around himself and silent phone pressed to his ear, still no answer from Tony. Sure, maybe he was just busy, or wanted to be alone – it was even possible that his phone was on silent and he didn’t know Steve was so worried – but that was doubtful at best and impossible at worst. Likely Tony had either thrown himself completely into his work and separated himself from the rest of the world in doing so, or he’d wandered off somewhere, lost in his own mind, alone and vulnerable.

Based off the look in his eyes when he left, Steve feared it was the latter.

A hesitant knock came from his door. Natasha peaked her head in, looking apologetic and guilty, a look that increased when she saw Steve’s hazardous state. “Hey,” she said softly. “Have you heard from Tony?”

With a great deal of effort, Steve pulled himself together, standing up and smoothing out his hair. It felt like he was held together by duct tape and bobby pins, but he knew he was standing tall and straight, and right now, that would have to do.

He saw Natasha straighten as well, her face hardening in automatic response to Steve adopting his Captain America persona. “The team is still gathered in the kitchen,” she reported. Her eyes softened slightly and she said, “We all want to make sure you’re okay and-”

“I’m fine,” Steve snapped, even though he knew she could see his slightly bloodshot eyes. He strode from the room trying to push past Natasha, but she caught his arm and jerked him back, making him look her in the eyes.

“No you’re not,” she insisted firmly, eyes imploring.

Steve yanked out of her grip without recognizing the words and moved down the hall with purpose. Sure enough, his team was gathered in the kitchen, all slumped over the counters dejectedly, except for Clint, who was sitting in the vents, his upper torso hanging out as he nursed a cup of lukewarm coffee. Steve stopped in the entrance between the kitchen and the hallway, folding his arms over his chest and letting steel hardened eyes sweep over them. Thor straightened to attention when he saw the captain, while Bruce just hunched further in on himself and Clint turned his gaze away from Steve completely. Natasha slid past Steve and stood by the counter next to Bruce.

“Say what you need to say,” she said quietly. “We deserve it.”

Steve slowly shook his head. “You have no idea what you’ve done,” he said, voice calm. “You have no idea the kind of damage you’ve caused. No idea. The lot of you should know better, better than anyone else, not to assume things from another’s past. You say you’re trying to protect me? But you weren’t. You were being close-minded and selfish. Tony is the best thing that’s happened to me since I got here – he’s the one letting me move on, have a life outside of superheroes and super secret government agencies. I needed him in my life like I need all of you on the field. He was my support and my backup. And you never _once_ listened to me when I told you that. If Bruce got a girlfriend, and if her parents treated him like you did Tony tonight – not letting him explain, pushing at hurting wounds because they were too insensitive to see the blood – what would you do? Or if Natasha’s partner’s friends asked her if she was a whore because she slept with people for SHIELD missions? Or if Clint met someone who’s family decided he was a murderer and called him that without asking any other questions? What would you want to do to those people?”

“Tear them limb from limb,” Clint mumbled from the vents, still not looking up, tracing one finger over the rim of his coffee mug.

Steve nodded curtly. “And that is exactly how you treated Tony, and I am the only one who will back him up,” he said. “Tony doesn’t have a team to fall back on like we do. He has me, and he has his boss. Nobody else in this world who spares a second thought about him, except for what he can give them. And then you come in. I promised him – I _promised_ him that you were a group of understanding, compassionate people who knew what it was like to have scars and that you would _never_ blame him for the things in his past. And you proved me wrong. You made me a liar.” Steve is seething by now, his eyes alive with rage and his hands fisted to the point of pain as he glares down every one of them. “You made me lie to _him_ , and I swore I would never do that. You added yourselves to an already too long list of people who have hurt him. And the worst part? He will never blame you. _Never_. If you were ever to meet you again, Tony would look down in _shame_ and apologize, because he thinks he deserves everything you said to him! And everything you’ve said tonight has only strengthened that. He won’t take my calls - _I_ don’t know where he is. I don’t know what he’s doing or if he’s safe or if he needs help because you hurt him and Tony – he’s a wounded animal, and he’s hiding, trying to lick his wounds, but he can't – won’t accept help because he was never taught _how_. I love him, and I will never forgive myself or him if-”

Steve never finished that fatal “if” because he phone goes off just then, with his team, all their faces shattered with shame, watching on. Biting off a curse he yanked it out of his pocket – and immediately melted against the counter, sinking down and answering the phone.

“Tony, I am so, so sorry,” he said, putting one hand over his eyes. “I really didn’t think they would – no, really I just didn’t think. I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. I know how they can get sometimes and I just sprung them all on you with almost no warning. I swear they’re never that cruel. But I'm not letting them off the hook on this one-”

“Steve,” Tony’s voice cut in. Steve instantly stiffened, standing ramrod straight and dropping his hand. Tony sounded _terrified_.

“Tony?” he barked. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

Steve knew his teammates had stiffened as well, but he paid them no mind because he could hear Tony’s breath hitching. “Steve,” he said, voice desperate and scared. “Steve, I – I don’t know – please don’t be mad, oh god, I am so sorry. Please just don’t be mad,” he whimpered.

“I'm not mad Tony, why would you think that?” asked Steve, running a hand through his hair. “What’s wrong, Tony? What happened?”

“I – I.” Tony cut himself off with a broken sob.

“Tony!” Steve yelled into the phone, earning a flinch from Bruce. He turned his back on the rest of them. “Where are you?” he demanded. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t _know,_ ” Tony moaned, hopelessness filling the air even over the cell phone. “Steve, I don’t know where I am, I c-can barely remember g-getting here-”

"What happened?” Steve asked, voice plenty desperate as well. “Did someone hurt you?”

He felt the air crackle to life with electricity behind him, and even though he was still pissed – royally so – Steve took comfort that his team was still on the ready to fight for him – and Tony, by extension. “No,” Tony sobbed. “S-Steve… I… I r-r-relapsed.”

Steve’s body tightened and his heart dropped into his stomach, and he felt himself choking on his breath. A warm hand landed on his shoulder and he whipped around to face a focused Thor, eyes wide and concerned. The rest of the Avengers were behind the god, already in fighting stances.

“What’s wrong, shield brother?” Thor rumbled softly.

Steve shook his head again and turned around. “Tony, I need you to sit down okay?” he said slowly. “And I need you to calm down.”

“I can't!” Tony howled brokenly across the line. “Steve – Steve oh _god_ , I relapsed, I'm gonna be like _him,_ I can't be like him – Steve, am I like him?”

“Who’s ‘him’, Tony?” asked Steve, voice calm even as his heart was being torn to shreds. “Is someone hurting you?” he asked again.

“No, no, not anymore,” Tony rambled, voice strained and high. “He’s gone – he’s dead. B-but what if I'm like him? I don’t want to be like him,” Tony whimpered.

Steve felt a shudder curl through his body. He had a good idea who Tony was talking about. “Tony, where are you?” he asked again, slowly, hoping Tony’s buzzed mind would be able to interpret him.

“I don’t know,” Tony moaned, and he sounded close to tears. “I don’t know where I am, Steve. Steve – I – I'm so scared, Steve.”

Tony’s breath kicked up and Steve strode from the room, grabbing his coat and tugging it on even though he had no idea where to go yet. “Breathe, Tony, breathe, match yours to mine, okay?” he said, taking slow deliberate breaths despite his mouth curling in fear. Tony couldn’t have a panic attack in the middle of a random street, especially not when he was drunk.

“Steve,” Tony sobbed, and he was definitely crying now. “I'm so sorry, please don’t be mad, please, I’ll try harder I’ll do better, please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t, Tony, I won’t ever leave unless you ask me too,” Steve promised, voice low with heartbreak. “It’s not your fault, and I'm not angry. We’ll try again, and I’ll be more careful, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony hiccupped, voice thick. “Please come,” he mumbled.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Steve promised. “But I don’t know where you are. Do you see any street signs?” he asked, back to cap-mode.

“No,” Tony murmured, sounding exhausted, but at least no longer panicking.

“What do you see, then?” asked Steve. “Are you still in Manhattan?”

            “Yes,” Tony said, sounding confident enough that Steve took his word about it. “I – there’s a lot of trees. And brick buildings.”

“Trees and brick buildings,” Steve repeated, turning. Sure enough the rest of the team had followed him out of the kitchen and were listening avidly. “What else?”

“I can't see the skyscrapers,” Tony muttered, and Steve could hear his voice lulling.

“Tony,” he said sharply. “You can't fall asleep. I promise I will be there soon, but you have to stay awake for me, okay?” Tony mumbled an assent across the line. “Okay, you can't see the skyscrapers. Anything else? Any other details?”

“Town houses,” Tony slurred. “I can hear water.”

Steve repeated this and saw Natasha’s eyes sharpen with understanding. He shot her a questioning look and she gave a minute nod of consent. “Okay, Tones, I know where you are, I'm coming to get you, okay? I’ll be there-” He looked at Natasha who mouthed eight “-in eight minutes, okay? Hang tight, don’t go to sleep.”

“Please don’t hang up,” Tony blurted, sounding a little more alert. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

“Never,” Steve promised, already running from the room and into the elevator, letting the team file in before hitting the roof button. “I promise I won’t. How much did you have to drink?” he asked. He saw the team exchange glances but ignored them. They’d done enough damage tonight, and if they did more, Steve would gladly throw them from a moving Quinjet, American values be damned.

“I don’t know,” Tony mumbled hopelessly. “What am I going to do?” he asked Steve, a little desperate.

“You’re going to start over,” Steve said firmly. “You’re going to start over and I'm going to be with you the whole time. You’re going to be fine.”

“Nah, I’ll be amazing,” Tony muttered, and it wasn’t with his usually sarcastic flourish, but it was something, and Steve cracked a smile as he opened and boarded the private Quinjet, Natasha taking the controls fluently, Clint by her side.

“Yes you will be,” Steve agreed as the jet lifted off. Static soon filled the line. “I’ll be there really soon, Tones, is it okay if I leave you for a minute? Our connection’s bad.”

“Yeah,” Tony mumbled dejectedly. “I'm sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Steve said. “I love you, I’ll see you in a few, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony murmured. “I love you too.”

Steve hung up the call and sat for a minute, hand clenched tightly around the small device in his hand, almost hard enough to break. But it was a StarkPhone, designed by Tony himself, so of course it wouldn’t break.

“What happened?” asked Bruce, first to break the silence. “Is Tony alright?”

Steve sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, hunching over. “Not really,” he said under his breath, before, louder, “Tony relapsed.” Steve felt his gut clench with the sour words. “He’s been clean for almost a year.”

Silence reigned through the jet until Clint finally spoke up. “Did we-” he started guiltily, glancing between Steve and Natasha.

“Yes,” Steve cut him off, not needing the archer to finish. “You probably did.”

Another silent beat. “Steve, we didn’t mean to-” Natasha starts, but Steve cuts her off.

“I am fully aware that you didn’t mean to hurt Tony and that you were tying to protect me,” Steve said without looking up. “But as I have said, I can take care of myself, and I know when someone is out to hurt me. Look, guys, you’re my team. You’re my family. And I'm not forgiving you guys for this – not yet, you have to make it up to Tony – but I love you guys. So no, this isn’t completely inexcusable to the point where I end our friendship, but I _never_ want any of you to even attempt something as cruel to Tony ever again,” Steve said firmly, finally looking up and surveying them with steel eyes. “If you do, then we will have a problem.”

“Agreed,” said Natasha, smoothly guiding the jet to the edge of Manhattan and setting it down in an empty parking lot. “He’s somewhere near here,” she murmurs, standing up, eyes searching Steve’s expression.

"Any assistance you require from us shall gladly be granted,” Thor rumbled solemnly.

Steve slowly stands and looks out the front window of the jet. The streets are dark, lit only by the flickering yellow glow of the lamps, though most of them are out. Tony’s somewhere out there. Steve needs to find him.

“Help me look for Tony,” he said, looking back to his team. “If you find him don’t – don’t go to him, just get me and bring me to him, okay? He’s – he’s really scared,” Steve says, voice turning into a slight whisper at the end.

“Of course,” says Bruce, and he hits the button that opens the door and they all leave the jet, heading off in different directions to find the lost genius.

In the end, Clint is the first to spot him, sharp eyes seeing everything even in the dark. He runs to Steve a few streets away and drags the soldier back to the end of the street that Tony sits on.

Tony is huddled on the curb under the single working lamppost on the street, arms wrapped tightly around his middle and his head ducked. He’s lost his button up in the time since leaving the tower and he’s shivering from the cold air. His feet are crossed in front of him, resting awkwardly on the road a few inches bellow where the rest of him sits. Steve’s super hearing can just pick out Tony’s shaking breath from the end of the mostly dark street.

Steve takes a deep breath, feels the air settle heavy in his lungs, before he strides forward towards the single light source and the young man underneath. He settles slowly onto the pavement beside Tony, and the genius looks up like he’s only just noticing anyone’s there. Fear fills his eyes initially, but it melts away into relief as soon as he recognizes the face beside him. Tony falls into Steve’s side, burying his face in Steve’s neck as Steve wraps strong arms around his skinny waist and holds him ad tightly as he can, letting Tony sob. Steve disentangles himself just long enough to shrug off his jacket and wrap it around Tony’s shaking figure, before he’s squeezing Tony again, keeping him close. One hand languidly strokes Tony’s soft hair as he coos gentle nothings into Tony’s ear.

Steve can't smell alcohol on Tony, even though he’s clearly drunk or at least coming down from intoxication, but then again Tony hasn’t had much of anything to eat tonight, as far as Steve knows, and he hasn’t touched the drink in a year, so it wouldn’t take much to become tipsy enough to be scared about relapsing.

“Hey,” Steve says softly when Tony isn’t shaking anymore. He pulls back, just enough to look into Tony’s red-rimmed eyes – from tears or booze, he doesn’t know – and his flushed cheeks. Steve runs one thumb under the other’s eyes, wiping away tears and looking him over. “Are you hurt?” he asks softly.

Tony shakes his head, looking away from Steve and at the pavement. “No,” he mutters, shame sinking into his figure.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that,” Steve dives in quickly, hauling Tony’s shoulders back up. “We are all allowed to make mistakes, Tony,” he said, running his hand through those curls again. “You don’t have to be ashamed, not as long as you keep trying, okay? Just keep trying, okay? I’ll quit drinking with you. Will that help?” Steve never drank much to begin with, and he can't get drunk in the first place, but Tony doesn’t know the second part, and it’s about being there for him, not about being logical.

Tony’s lip quivers but he nods. Slowly, he lists to the side and lays his head on Steve’s shoulder. His eyes look out over the dark street, unfocused and unseeing, as though all the energy in his body has been drained out of him like someone pulled the plug in the bathtub.

Steve sighs and balances his head on his boyfriend’s. “Oh Tony,” he murmurs, linking their hands together. “I am so sorry.”

Tony doesn’t respond other than to shudder slightly and push closer to Steve. Steve wasn’t expecting him to anyway. Just outside of the street lamp’s light he can see his gathered team, all shifting anxiously, watching them with palpable nerves and shame. Natasha briefly caught his eye, and even over the distance separating them and the shadows she was shrouded in, he could read the question in them.

“Come on, Tones,” said Steve softly, pressing a kiss to Tony’s hair and standing up slowly, pulling the younger man with him. “We’ve gotta go. It’s cold out, and your shaking. I need to get you in bed.”

Tony didn’t respond but let Steve pull him down the streets, whimpering whenever their hands lost contact or an extra inch of space was pushed between their bodies. The rest of the Avengers took care to hustle back to the Quinjet, so they were all settled throughout the small space when Steve finally managed to pull Tony up the few steps.

Tony hesitated in the doorway, eyesight sharpening just enough to flicker between the other people warily, a tiny spark of fear glinting in his eyes and showing in the way he stiffened. Steve’s fractured heart earned a new ravine; Tony was scared they were going to hurt him.

Steve squeezed his hand as tightly as he could, getting Tony to look at him. “They won’t hurt you,” Steve murmured, though he knew everyone else heard him. “You’re safe. I promise your safe.”

Tony’s misty eyes drifted away again, and this time he locked gazes with a studious Natasha. They stared at each other – stared each other down, stared through each other, whatever – for a few moments, before Natasha rose from her seat.

“I have to apologize on behalf of all of us for the way we acted early this evening,” she said, lowering her head in the slightest show of submission – apology. “It was unfair to you, and to Steve, and it was uncalled for. You had given us no reason to distrust you, had allowed yourself to be put at possible risk by meeting us, and we betrayed that. I am sorry.”

Tony blinked in surprise and confusion and he didn’t say anything, just looked away, leaning against Steve. But when Steve stepped further into the jet, Tony went with him willingly. Steve carefully sat him down on a bench, fussing over a despondent Tony before slowly sitting down next to him. Tony leaned into Steve’s side automatically even though his eyes were staring unseeing ahead at the curved metal wall of the jet.

“Clint, get us to the Tower,” Steve said, pulling Tony tightly to his side. The genius didn’t respond.

“Yeah,” Clint muttered, before nodding harder, tearing his eyes away from Tony and moving to the cockpit. “Quick as I can, Cap,” he said. His shaking hands settled onto the wheel where they stilled as he focused his attention out the window instead of the very broken man who had started to silently cry against Steve’s shoulder.

“Oh Tony,” Steve whispered, wiping away the tears. “It’s okay, sweetie. I'm so sorry,” he cooed softly, kissing Tony’s cheek. Tony didn’t acknowledge that he was present for any of the proceedings. Steve knew what it meant and he’d try to help, but in the Quinjet, there wasn’t much he could do.

“Is he hurt?” asked Bruce after a moment.

Steve slowly shook his head. “Not in any way you can help,” he murmured, glancing at his anxious team. His grip tightened unconsciously on Tony’s shoulder. “He’s – he’s coming down from a panic attack,” Steve said, his mouth twisting like he didn’t want to say it. He probably didn’t, not to them at least. He didn’t trust them with the information. And no matter how justified that was, it still stung.

“What can we do?” asked Bruce, ever the doctor. He’d also been the only one to even remotely stick up for Tony, even though he hadn’t done much.

“Just be quiet,” Steve said, shifting his hand up and pressing Tony’s head down against his shoulder. “He’ll be alright, but he’s – he’s drunk, and it’s messing with him. I just need to get him somewhere dark and quiet and get him to go to sleep.”

“Good thing we’re home then,” Clint muttered, gently setting down the aircraft on the landing pad on top of the tower. Steve stood up, taking Tony’s unresponsive hand in his and wrapping his other arm around Tony’s waist. “Anything else, Cap?” asked Clint, turning his chair and biting his lip in uncharacteristic nervousness.

Steve paused and studied them for a moment, chewing on his lip for a moment before he asked, “What’s the best Disney movie?”

Clint and Bruce exchanged shocked looks before looking back to Steve. “I – uh, why? You know what, whatever man. First thoughts, Toy Story, Finding Nemo, Inside Out, the Lion King, or WALL-E,” Clint said, shaking his head.

Steve nodded distractedly, looking down at Tony. “Which one would you recommend?” he asked, finally letting a small blush take over his cheeks even though he asked unabashedly.

“WALL-E,” Clint said after a moment. “Watch WALL-E.”

Steve nodded and turned around, slowly steering Tony out of the plane and into the roof’s elevator. The doors closed behind them quickly, but just before they did, Clint and the others heard a sob ring through the quiet night.

The rest of them stayed on the jet, silent in shock and horror, their guts churning as they finally think on all the damage they cause, however unintentional.

Thor is the first to speak. “I feel we have made a grave error, colleagues,” he said, lowering his head so his eyes were fixed on the floor.

“Damn right we did,” Clint said, devoid of his usual swagger. “I don’t understand half the things that happened tonight, but what I do get it that we fucked up miserably.”

“This is my fault,” Natasha said softly, curling and uncurling her fingers on her thighs. “I shouldn’t have done any of it.”

“You shouldn’t have, but none of us stopped you,” Bruce comforted, setting one hand on her shoulder. “You initiated it, but we should have put a stop to it. That’s what teams – families are supposed to do.”

“We have assumed an innocent civilian was a rapscallion out for the debauchery of our Captain and acted like children in defending our ally,” Thor said, shaking his head sadly. “Our mis-actions towards the Captain’s other half are inescapable and we must work from tonight on to right these wrongs.”

“There’s no use crying over spilled milk,” Bruce agreed, straightening up with a sigh. “We just have to clean it up now. Come on, guys, let’s get inside.”

Clint turns off the jet and the lot of them traipses quietly across the roof, piling into the elevator. Clint hits the button for the common floor and nobody questions him. On nights like these they frequently just hang out in the open room and watch a movie, accepting the silently offered comfort from the others, no talking or explaining required.

Clint takes one step out of the elevator before he pauses, signaling the team to still behind him. The enormous TV is flickering with light, showing WALL-E trundling through skyscrapers of garbage, poking around and finding treasures amidst trash. Steve is sitting on the couch, only his head visible over the back of it, and he’s watching them like he wants to know what they’ll do, his face blank and impassive. Clint doesn’t see Tony.

After hesitating a moment longer, Clint lets his foot fall and starts silently across the room to the array of couches, chairs, and pillows stationed around the entertainment system. As he rounds the couch Steve is on he finally sees Tony, lying along the length of it, head covered by his arms and resting in Steve’s lap, relaxed. Steve’s fingers cord gently through Tony’s hair as he keeps his gaze on Clint. Clint just settles into the over-stuffed armchair next to the couch and watches the movie.

One by one, the rest of the team comes in, starting with Natasha, who sits on the floor next to Steve’s legs. Thor comes in next, trying his darndest to keep his thundering footsteps soft until he collapses on the love seat closest to the screen. Bruce takes position in his usual spot, an achingly old chair that’s amazingly comfortable, and watch as Eve introduces herself and WALL-E shows her his home and his dreams.

They watched till the movie is over and everyone but Natasha and Steve has fallen asleep. Steve is watching them all with slight suspicion, but he doesn’t jerk when Natasha wraps her fingers around his ankle and looks up at him.

“It’s going to be okay, Steve,” she promises earnestly. “We’ll all help in any way we can.”

Steve studies her hard, before nodding, his fingers tightening slightly in Tony’s curly hair. Tony sighs happily in his sleep and presses his face against Steve’s stomach, murmuring contentedly.

 +++

The next morning Steve is woken up with the rest of them to the pounding sounds of ACDC. He jerks up from his position sprawled over the couch, watching the team as they do as well, every eye darting to the kitchen to see an unexpected scene.

Tony is stirring something in a stainless steel bowl – while standing on top of the counter – and Clint is dancing around the kitchen island and singing along loudly into a used spatula while Tony laughs. Half-finished dishes cover every counter surface and the toaster is smoking. Tony is beaming.

_"You!”_ Clint shouts, pointing at Tony and lunging forward, nearly toppling himself over. “ _Shook me all night long_!”

“ _You really shook me_ ,” Tony echoes happily, bouncing on the counter and spilling batter on his shirt.

“ _Yeah you! Yeah you shook me, well you took me!_ ”

Tony drops the bowl onto the floor in favor of doing an impromptu guitar solo, falling to his knees on the counter and air-guitaring wildly and this time Clint does fall over, slipping in the batter and landing on his ass, laughing so hard his face turns red.

Bruce shoots him a horrified look, but Steve just smiles back, and flopped back down onto the couch. Things were going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: talk of relapsing, panic attacks
> 
> Next Update: Monday


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time skip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? This is my second week in a row updating a day late? I suck. Sorry

Tony flipped the pancakes leisurely as they chatted, occasionally turning around the grin at Clint or Natasha, as he made them all breakfast. Steve was leaning against the doorway, unseen, smiling softly. Tony was dressed only in sweatpants and a tank top covered by a flannel button-down that he had to continuously fiddle with the sleeves of so they don’t get batter on them or catch fire from the stove.

Since that first disastrous night and the following morning, Tony had become an honorary member of the team, and he was around the Tower almost as much as the rest of them. It only took that first morning for the others to realize Tony was amazing, and after that it was smooth sailing.

“I never went to college,” Clint was saying, expertly spinning his spoon on its tip. “Barely went to school either. Mostly home-schooled by a lady at the foster home I was in. Other than that, I didn’t ever do any calc or science, and I'm doing just fine.”           

“Yeah, but you’re good at physics aren’t you?” asked Tony, flipping a pancake in the air before sliding it onto an already towering plate and moving on to the next pan after reapplying the doe.

“Crazy good,” Clint agreed with a shrug. “’S the only thing I can do, really. And I am a decently functioning human being, so.”

“Thing about school is most of the stuff they teach kids won’t need,” Tony agreed. “Basic math and science is essential, and it’s good to know literature and history, but unless your job requires it, most people don’t ever need to use calculus – or algebra, most of the time. Me, I depend on knowing it. But I don’t need to know that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.” He dropped blueberries onto a pancake. “In high school, and even in middle school nearing the end, the classes should be more targeted for what the kid’s future job will be, but a majority of them don’t know. And what if you want to change professions? I think the kid can learn a lot of stuff independently if they need it for what they want to do, but I also think some kids won’t have the initiative to do that. All in all, school’s important.” Tony fusses with the sleeves of his shirt for a minute longer before simply taking off the flannel he was wearing, and then continuing on with his pancakes.

“I was always partial to chemistry,” Natasha says, slowly cutting up a banana. “I went to a very prestigious and uptight school with questionable methods, but I did learn a lot, and I use a lot of it in my job.”

“You’re super-secret, government/military job,” Tony specifies, scooping up the towering plate and setting it on the table in front of Natasha. His arms stretch out in front of him and Steve sees Natasha’s eyes latch onto the mark on his underarm, quickly followed by Clint’s. The archer’s mouth drops open and he quickly starts scanning the rest of Tony’s visible skin for marks that before would’ve seemed inconspicuous. The super-soldier’s entire body freezes as he waits for the oncoming confrontation Tony probably isn’t ready for.

Tony remains oblivious. “You seem like you’d be good at making things explode,” he agrees, turning around and unintentionally showing his now scared shoulders to them. Before it would’ve seemed like a work accident, but now that they’re looking for damage it rings with a different truth. “Not judging of course,” Tony says, starting in on yet another batch of pancakes. “I make shit explode all the time. My boss is going to kill me one day – or Steve, the first time he’s at my place when the curtains catch fire.” Tony turned around and leaned against the counter, unconsciously showcasing the knifed letters in his arms. They looked much harsher in the fluorescent kitchen lights than they did in the soft glow of Tony’s bedroom.

Tony finally notices that the assassins are staring at him, and his eyes drift down to his arm, before he snaps the limb to his side, clutching it close with his other hand and hiding the scar from view. Natasha’s mouth is open as though she wants to ask a question but can't quite vocalize it and Clint is just staring.

“I – I – it’s-”

Tony’s stuttering snaps Steve out of his frozen state and he quickly straightens, striding into the room and instantly wrapping Tony in his arms. He feels how stiff Tony is and buries his face in Tony’s hair. “Do you want to put on a shirt?” Steve whispers, almost directly into Tony’s ear. He feels Tony give a jerky nod. “Okay,” Steve says easily. “You want me to come with you?” Tony shakes his head, and Steve holds onto him until Tony’s body loosens slightly, before backing up. Tony turns and hightails it out of the kitchen, decidedly not looking at Nat and Clint.

Steve watches him go, his lips twisting unpleasantly. He knows that Tony won’t want him to see him changing right now when he’s feeling vulnerable and exposed, so Steve has to give him space. It’s what he has to do, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting.

He finally gathers his courage with a deep breath and turns to face Clint and Natasha. They’re just watching him with wide, hurt eyes. Steve sighs and leans on the counter, leaning his head forward slightly. “Don’t _ever_ mention this to him unless he explicitly brings it up,” he says after a moment, glancing up and staring them each in the eye to impose how important this is.

They both nod and Natasha asks, “Who put them there?” not-so-subtly cracking her knuckles under the table.

Steve manages to smile slightly at that; his whole team has taken to Tony like he’s their little brother, even going so far as to forbid Steve from hurting him. It’s a far cry from the first night, something that is never spoken of and generally forgotten except in the rawest of moments. His smile slips as soon as he engages the actual question, though. “Long dead,” he says seriously. “I triple checked using Tony’s system, and then another scan on SHIELD’s database just to be sure.”

Natasha relaxes in her seat slightly, an odd look of relief and disappointment on her face. Steve knows what is represents; glee that her friend isn’t in danger, and frustration that she can't dole out some pain of her own. “Why did they carve that into his skin?” Clint blurts, looking a little ill. “Why his name?”

Steve shrugs slightly. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Neither does Tony, from what he’s told me. He’s had it for longer than he remembers.”

Natasha squeezes her eyes shut and fists her hands tightly but nods curtly. “Who did it? When?” she asks, finally, looking at Steve.

Steve tightens his shoulders and shakes his head. “It’s not my place to tell,” he said. “It’s not my story and I don’t know if Tony would be comfortable with you knowing.”

Natasha nodded like this was the answer she was expecting. “I trust you,” she said after a second. “If you say he’s dead, I will believe that you have done absolutely everything you could possibly do to make sure he is.” She focused leveled eyes on him, gaze hard. “But I very well may be able to do more.”

Steve met her gaze. “You know Tony,” he said. “You know what a genius he is. His servers have found no trace whatsoever that the man who did it to him is alive, and I don’t think any one in this world would be able to hide from Tony if he really wanted to find them.”

Steve, who had been expecting more of a fight, was surprised to see some of the tension leak from Nat’s shoulders. “Good,” she said, her face relaxing. She smirked at Steve’s surprised look. “You think you’re the only one who realizes we’re living with a genius?” she said.

“He’s - he’s safe, right?” asks Clint, lips twisting unpleasantly.

Of course, Steve thinks, smiling gently at him. Clint is so protective of the few people he lets near his heart, he never was able to stand the idea of one of them getting hurt. “Yeah,” Steve assures softly as Natasha takes the archer’s hand. “We’ll keep him safe.”

Tony bustled back into a kitchen just then, wearing the same outfit but with a new unbuttoned flannel shirt over the tank top. He ruffled Steve’s hair as he passed, squawking when he saw the pancakes still on the stove. “You guys are idiots!” he exclaimed, turning the stove off with a slap of his hand and dumping the ruined pancakes into the trash. “Dumbasses,” he accused happily, already restarting the batch, pouring more batter from the industrial sized bowl. “How are those ones?” he asked when they’d been laid down, gesturing to the towering stack.

Steve snatched a chocolate chip one of the top and took a huge bite, smiling dopily at Tony and hoping the other two got the message to let him pretend nothing had happened. “Delicious, sweetheart,” he said.

Tony beamed and pushed off the counter to press a smacking kiss against Steve’s lips. “Gotta agree,” he said, faux thoughtfully. “That is delicious.”

Clint fake gagged while Nat just shook her head indulgently and snagged a blueberry pancake, but Steve saw the small worry lines around her eyes, despite her smile.

“How many more pancakes are you planning on making?” he asked Tony instead of focusing on the assassins. Tony flipped the cake high in the air before catching it expertly on the spatula.

“Um, excuse you,” he said, vaulting the pancake onto the plate with a flick of his wrist. Clint’s eyes were bugging out of his head at the enviable show of aero-dynamics. “You’re not the one trying to feed a group of insatiable soldiers.”

Steve laughs and kisses Tony again, before sliding into his seat and loading his plate with an assortment of flapjacks. Tony doesn’t realize how true it is, really. He’s been doing a pretty damn good job of feeding a super soldier, a demigod, two assassins, and a Hulk.

“And we’re all thankful for it,” Bruce said, entering the room. He sat down on a stool at the island and yawned behind his hand as he reached for a cherry pancake, putting it on one of the plates Tony’s set out, before being the first of them to actually get up and grab silverware. “Thank you, Tony,” Bruce says, before starting his breakfast.

Tony blinks in surprise before quickly turning around, and Steve curses himself for not thanking him. Across the table he can see Natasha and Clint doing the same while Bruce eyes them all disapprovingly, having put one and two together. By the time Tony turns around though, each of them has schooled their expressions into normalcy and he’s grinning his usual grin like nothing happened.

“Think this’ll be enough to appease Thor?” asked Tony, dropping at least a pound of mixed chip pancakes onto the table. He worried his lips as he surveyed the towers of breakfast food.

Clint snorted. “One more thing to be said in your favor, Tony, is you haven't ever done anything halfway,” he said admiringly, tearing off a piece of plane pancake. He groaned and quickly shoved the rest in his mouth. “And you’re a damn good cook.”

Tony’s shrug was non-committable and he picked up a plain pancake of his own, hopping onto the counter and nibbling at it. “Eh, just the basics,” he said, taking tiny bites. He had no qualms about making a feast for the rest of them, but Steve would be lucky if he could convince Tony to finish the one pancake.

“That’s not true,” Steve defended after swallowing the rest of a cinnamon pancake. “You made me Spaghetti alle vongole the other night and it was delicious.” Steve mouth watered at the mere thought of the dish – and he didn’t even like seafood. He made sure to share these thoughts with Tony and the team.

Tony shrugged again. “Okay, basic shit and Italian dishes,” he admitted. “But I’ve always cooked Italian.”

“Is your family from Italy?” asked Natasha, dabbing powdered sugar off her lips. Tony’s body tensed suddenly and his eyes hardened as he regarded Natasha coldly. Steve stiffened in response and it took zero seconds flat before the room with bristling with tension.

“Didn’t you find the answer to that in your research?” Tony asked, joking, but it falls flat on their ears. Natasha’s entire body turned into a live coil, a result of guilt, and she opened her mouth to respond – probably with something scathing and much more hurtful than she intended. Before Steve got the chance to stop her though, Thor interrupted.

“Friends!” he bellowed, thundering into the room with an ecstatic grin, arms wide. “What a feast that has been created! My many thanks go to you, Stanleyson.”

Tony laughed and grinned, not seeing Nat’s conflicting expressions and he hopped off the counter, leaving behind his barely touched pancake. Steve sighed and rested his head in his hands while Natasha looked guiltily down at her plate.

“Morning, Theodore,” Tony replied easily. “Guess what I made, just for you?” he asked, picking up and brandishing a plate of pancakes to Thor. These ones had been cooked till it was crispier than the others, and thinner. Tony had adorned it with icing and sprinkles, creating what had to be the demigod’s wet dream: a poptart-pancake.

Steve had to smile when he saw Thor’s eyes well up, and saw the large man sweep his boyfriend into a bone crushing hug against his large chest. Tony squeaked in surprise but managed to maneuver the plate so it wasn’t crushed in the embrace. “Thank you, friend Tony,” said the god, holding Tony close to his chest.           

“You’re welcome,” Tony squeaked, tapping his shoulder. “Please put me down now. Breathing is important to me.”

Thor set Tony down and Tony grinned and handed him the plate. “Oh right, Clint, last night I made Nutella candy bars, and then cut them up so here,” he said, picking out a few pancakes and throwing them to Clint, who caught them easily, staring at the Nutella chips embedded in them. “Dried bananas and cinnamon for Bruce, extra sugar on top,” he said, putting those on a plate and sprinkling them with the dust before sliding them to the surprised doctor. “Strawberries and walnuts for the lovely but very scary lady, with whip cream,” said Tony, expertly dolloping the stack before giving them to Nat. “And for my wonderful bae, kiwi and raspberry, smothered in blackberry sauce,” Tony finished, sliding over the plate and smacking a sloppy kiss on Steve’s cheeks. “There’s about six million extra so eat as much as you want,” he said nonchalantly, slinging an arm over Steve’s shoulder and picking up a blueberry pancake to nibble at.

They all stared at the genius for a moment, before their eyes fell onto the pancakes before them, before jerking their gazes back up to Tony, all of them completely in sync. Tony didn’t seem to realize their amazement, zoning out a little as he leaned on Steve and absently bit off bits of the pancake in his hand.

“Tony,” Clint was the first to say, “how did you know our favorites?”

Tony jerked out of his daze and looked at Clint in confusion. “What?” he asked.

“You know all of our favorites,” Bruce clarified, eyes drifting to his more crepe-like pancakes. “How?”

Tony finally seemed to get what they were asking because he laughed and shrugged. “Uh, I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head and grinning. “I pay attention? I do have ADHD and an idetic memory, it ain’t that hard to riddle favorite foods out. Don’t think you’re so special, Clint,” he snapped happily, nibbling on his pancake.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said, trying to push all the sincerity he could into the words. By the confused look on Tony’s face he probably suceeded. “We all appreciate it.”

Tony just hummed and smiled a little, getting through about a quarter of the pancake while the rest of the team tore through the snacks, spouting compliment after compliment that Tony didn’t seem to register. He set his food down and placed a sloppy kiss on Steve’s cheek playfully.

“I gotta get to work,” he declared. “My boss wants me to actually go to a meeting today, so I gotta get all dressed up and shit. Wish me luck.” He saluted all of them with a grin.

“Want me to take you home?” Steve offered, already starting to stand up before Tony waved him off.

“Nah, sweet cheeks, I'm good, as much as I do love seeing you on a motorcycle” he said. “Finish your breakfast. I’ll see you tonight.” He departed with a final wave before climbing onto the elevator and heading down to the personal entrance.

Steve sighed happily as he went. “I have the perfect boyfriend,” he said, maybe a little smugly. He might be Captain America, but that didn’t make him a boy scout. At least not all the time.

Clint groaned. “It’s literally not fair,” he said. “I mean he’s smart, he cooks, he’s funny, he has good tastes, he can fix your fucking bike for Thor’s sake – where the hell is my perfect partner!”

“I think he’s coming your way actually,” Bruce snickered just as Coulson entered the room. Clint’s cheeks turned scarlet and he stuttered a little. Coulson remained oblivious, as he always was when it came to Clint.

“Who was the man I saw leaving the elevator?” he asked in way of a greeting, snagging a plain pancake from the diminished stacks. “I’m assuming he didn’t break in, because he was heading down, but it was the private bank.”

“Oh, that’s just Steve’s boo,” Clint sniggered, having regained his snark and his sass.

Coulson’s eyebrow went up and he turned to Steve. “I was not aware you were in a relationship, Captain, other than your altercation with Fury the other month,” he said, managing to look professional as he bit the large pancake and chewed slowly. Only Coulson.

Steve turned the same shade Clint had been moments before. “Uh, y-yeah,” he stammered, ducking his head. “We’ve, uh, been together a few months now.”

Coulson smirked. “I don’t believe you’ve filled out the appropriate forms to be in a relationship with a civilian,” he said conversationally.

He got five glares for that statement.

“Well, you’re eating his pancakes right now,” Clint snapped, snagging the pancake out of Coulson’s hand and throwing it away with a huff.

“You know me, Coulson, I would never let any of my team date an outsider unless I was perfectly sure they were safe,” Natasha said, chin tilted up and words clipped.

“And we most certainly do not need to go through another nightmare background check again,” Bruce added, shuddering.

Coulson looked at him in confusion for a moment before visibly coming to the conclusion that he didn’t need to know. He turned to Natasha. “I do trust you," he said seriously. “Therefore, I'm sure I can tweak the process and skip the background check. But the regulations are there for the safety of the civilian as much as they are for our agents,” he continued.

“None of us would allow any harm come to our companion,” Thor said, voice firm and power-filled.

Coulson raised the other eyebrow as he surveyed the determined faces of the team. He smiled a little. “I see you’ve grown attached,” he said, almost teasing, before it melted away into something more professional. “If you’ve already been together for a few months, I'm assuming you’ve been on dates in public then?” he asked of Steve. Steve nodded curtly, professional as well. “Then you’ve been seen together, and even if you were only caught in the background of Instagram photos or on manual security footage, your enemies, and SHIELD’s, will find that and this guy you all obviously care deeply about? He will become a target.” Coulson looked each of them head on one at a time, finishing with Steve. “I will do everything in my power to keep him from the worse parts of the process, but if he’s registered as a personal ally to you, then he will be under SHIELD’s protection.”

Steve pondered this for a moment before looking to Natasha, signaling to her that he trusted her to make this decision; she’d been with SHIELD a lot longer than him. Natasha nodded before looking to Coulson. “He doesn’t know we’re part of SHIELD, just suspects that we work for a government agency. He can't know. I don’t want him anywhere near SHIELD HQ. You don’t interrogate, don’t even approach him. He just goes in the system under Steve’s partner – and I want that file highly classified.” She looked at Steve who nodded, a smile curling his lips. “Those are our terms,” she said, turning back to Coulson.

Coulson was smiling again, and he looked happy. “Looks like I’ve missed a lot,” he said. “The lot of you seem pretty attached to him.”

Bruce sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “He’s like an adorable puppy someone kicked,” the doctor explained. “You can't not fall in love with him.”

Coulson’s brow furrowed. “Who kicked him?” he asked darkly.

They were saved from coming up with an answer by the ding of the elevator. Before any of them could stop him, Coulson had whirled around on instinct, not used to anyone having clearance on the floors besides the already gathered.

“Hey guys, I think I left my wallet up here, have you – Holy shit, whoa!” Tony froze halfway through the front room and the kitchen and threw his hands up, his wide eyes focused on the gun in Coulson’s hands, trained on him.

Natasha tackled Coulson, though it wasn’t strictly necessary, as he’d already started to pull the gun away. “Stand down, Agent!” Natasha yelled in his ear.

They were all on their feet now – well, Nat and Phil were on the floor, but none of them were seated.

Tony’s hands remained in the air even as Steve dodged around the tangled agents on the floor. “Seriously, Steve, what the fuck is up with your friends?” Tony asked, eyes wide. “I mean first the pizza and now a _fucking_ _gun_? Really? Is this necessary? I get it! Your friends are capable of killing me with the snap of their fingers if I hurt you, I _understand_ -”

Steve cut off Tony’s increasingly hysterical rant by sweeping the younger man into a crushing hug, hands burying into his curls. “Hey Tony, shush, I'm sorry, it’s okay,” he said, hoping to fight off a possible approaching panic attack – although he couldn’t really blame Tony for this one. “No one’s going to hurt you no matter what,” he assured, sighing in relief when he felt Tony relax in his arms. “At this point, I think if we break up _I’d_ be the one these idiots would be hunting down, not you.”

Tony chuckled weakly and pushed Steve back. “Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “Uh, so I’m gonna walk home,” he said, glancing at the kitchen. Steve followed his gaze to see a sheepish and disarrayed Coulson standing next to a pissed Natasha who’s arms were folded across her chest tightly. Clint was leaning against the counter, shaking with barely restrained laughter. Thor looked one part concerned two parts amused, and vise versa for Bruce. “You have weird friends,” Tony finished, patting Steve on the shoulder. “And I’d love to meet the trigger happy one, but I really do have to get going if I'm gonna walk.”

"No, give me three seconds,” Steve says, darting out of the room and headed towards the bedroom to find Tony’s things.

Tony’s eyes follow his boyfriend looking rather unimpressed, before he turns back to face the kitchen, pushing his hands into his pockets and grinning coyly. “So, Trigger Happy, I assume your one of Steve’s friends?” he asks, sauntering forward.

“Phil Coulson,” the man introduces, sticking his hand out. “And yes, I’d like to think we are. I apologize for, ehem, reacting in such a manner.” He says, a little sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s all right,” Tony says, waving him off with a wide beam. He stops before coming in reach of the hand and Phil slowly lowers it. “I mean, we’ve all done it at some point right? Well, not _me_ , but I'm sure all of you have.”

Steve jogs back into the room and hands the wallet to Tony, at the same time sliding one arm over his shoulders and kissing his cheek. “On the dresser,” he explains as Tony pockets his wallet. Tony smiles and turns his head to press a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “Sorry about that,” Steve whispers when they pull apart. “I’ll explain later, okay?”

Tony shrugs and pats Steve’s wide chest. “Whatever floats your boat soldier-boy,” he says, untangling himself from Steve’s octopus grip. “Nice to meet you, Secret-Agent Man,” he says, saluting Phil. “Cool gun,” he adds, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the elevator.

Steve stuffs his hands into his pockets and smiles after Tony for a moment before the doors slide closed and he turns to the team. And, more relevantly, Phil.

“Are you dating an alternate reality Clint?”

The question has several affects; Steve’s jaw drops to the floor and his eyes bug out of his head; Clint doesn’t bother to restrain his howling laughter anymore; Bruce chokes on his tea; Thor looks like someone just tried to explain the ending of _Lost_ to him; and Natasha actually hits Coulson. Hard.

“Oh, that’s precious,” Clint gasps, wiping away fake tears. “Me and Tony. Oh.” Natasha hits him too.

“I am _not_ dating _Clint_ ,” Steve says once he’s regained his voice. “ _Ew._ What the hell, Coulson?”

Coulson shrugged unconcernedly, but winced – although it was more likely from the bruise Natasha had given him than embarrassment. “I, of course, don’t know him very well, but based on our initial interaction I can match several characteristics between them.”

“Once you get to know Tony, he and Clint are very different,” Bruce assures, cleaning up the spilled tea. “Tony’s smarter than him, for one.”

“You know what?” asks Clint, crossing his arms and shrugging. “I’m not even going to be offended. That grasshopper can run circles around Bruce.”

“Really?” Coulson asks, and they all nod.

“And he cooks,” Clint pipes up, pouting a little. “I mean, Steve’s already perfect on his own, is it _really_ fair to give him a perfect partner?” Steve saw a brief flash of hurt pass through Coulson’s eyes. He rolled his own at the idiocy of those two morons.

Natasha, judging by her exasperated smirk, saw it too. “I, for one, am still rooting for the day the world finally graces the females of this planet with a perfect guy.”

“Hey!” Bruce objects.

“Other than you, Brucie,” Natasha corrects with a warm smile, moving and pecking Bruce’s cheek.

“Brucie?” asks Coulson, smirking a bit.

“Tony started calling me that,” Bruce grumbled into his tea, trying to force down the smile twitching on his lips. “It stuck.”

“How long has he been hanging around the Tower?” asks Coulson, looking them over with amusement.

“About two months,” Clint says, smacking Phil on the shoulder. “Surprised you haven't noticed so far. You’re getting soft in your old age, dude.”

Coulson shot Clint an unimpressed look. “I’ve been in Australia for the last month, if you haven't noticed,” he said dryly. Clint scrunched his nose up.

“I noticed,” he defended. “Well, the part where you were gone. I didn’t know you were in Aussie.”

Coulson chuckled and slipped into his seat at the table. “Of course you did, Barton,” he said, smile teasing his lips. He cleared his throat and looked away. “So do I get pancakes now?” he asked, reaching for the stack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: Friday


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Batrone is the last name of Clint's fake identity

“I vote for the _Annie_!” Clint said, vaulting over the couch and landing on his side without spilling a single piece of popcorn in the over flowing bowl. They’ve all gathered around the entertainment zone after a day spent alternatively talking about tactics and their enemies, and the superhero world rumors. After all, everyone in the business knew SHIELD ran on coffee and gossip.

“You’ve already seen it four times,” Natasha says, rolling her eyes. “I think we should watch _Pretty Woman_.”

Clint snorts. “You’re one to talk,” he accuses.

“We need to wait until Tony gets here to decide,” Steve says, words filled with finality as he drops onto the love seat. The rest know not to join him as later that night it will be claimed by Tony’s sprawling body.

“How about _Spy_?” Coulson asks, his lips curling as Clint drops his head onto the man’s suited lap.

“Be careful what you say, Trigger Happy,” Tony declares, stepping out of the elevator, still dressed in his suit. “ _Or you’ll give yourself away,_ ” he sings badly, grinning as he dances across the room. “ _Odds are you won't live to see tomorrow. Secret agent man, secret agent man_.” Tony pushes himself over the back of the loveseat and lands surprisingly gracefully, sprawled out, his head in Steve’s lap. Clint is in a similar position, with his feat propped in Natasha’s lap and his hands buried in the popcorn bowl resting on his stomach. “My vote’s for _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_ ,” he says, winking at Steve.

“Wow, I'm counting two blatant spy innuendos in under one minute,” Clint says, rolling his eyes fondly. “That must be a record for you, Stanley.”

“Please, Batrone,” Tony says, waving him off. “I could make enough insinuations to make your tiny head spin.” He turned back to Coulson. “I don’t think you know who I am,” he said to Phil, though he’d begun to nuzzle into Steve’s hand when the super soldier started curling his fingers through Tony’s silky hair. “At least not from my mouth, and I don’t know where Batrone’s has been so I’d rather you not take info from him, Trigger Happy.”

“Coulson,” Phil corrects. “Please call me Coulson. And I wouldn’t trust Clint either.”

“Hey!” Clint objects, pouting up at Coulson and swatting at his hand. “Not fair. Where’s the love, bro?”

“But first impressions are so meaningful,” Tony interjects, completely ignoring the archer. “And I’ve only gotten the barrel of a gun as it from, like, three people.”

Steve frowned. “Who was pointing guns at you?” he asks, looking like a worried puppy.

Tony reaches up and pats his cheek. “Well, right off the bat, soldier-boy, you don’t get to puppy-eyes me, because the most recent one is your friend,” he points out, and Steve flushes a bit, because yeah, that’s true. “Secondly… I don’t have a second,” Tony finishes. “All I know is that I went to this crazy party and where there’s an insane party, you are guaranteed to stumble upon a few crazy chicks and dicks. Anyway, I'm Tony Stanley, Steve’s super hot, genius boyfriend.”

The conversation is interrupted by the click of the DVD slot and the opening credits for Paramount Pictures start. “We’re watching _Clueless_ ,” Natasha declares, standing up from her crouch and moving back to her position on the couch. “No complaints.”

Clint groans and Phil and Steve shake their heads but don’t object. Tony, on the other hand, just smirks, his eyes glinting like he knows something none of the others do. “How appropriate,” he murmurs, glancing up at Steve, who looks back and smiles, before kissing Tony lightly.

 +++

Several hours later the TV is displaying the opening dashboard for the movie and everyone is asleep other than Natasha and Clint. Clint had wiggled around in Coulson’s lap until his upper half was resting on their handler and his face was looking out instead of up. Natasha is sitting on the floor in front of him, and the two are talking in a mix of heavily accented Russian and rapid fire sign language that no other person has ever been able to understand for long periods of time.

All day they’d been sharing glances between them, exchanging worried looks and confused glances, something that doubled the moment Tony reentered their living quarters, but they’d spent the day surrounded by their team and they knew better than to mention it around them.

“ _I’ve been trying all_ day _to figure out – why that?_ ” Natasha says and signs in their partially made up language. She says “I’ve been” and “figure out” and “that” in Russian, and the rest in sign language.

“ _Me too_ ,” Clint signs. “ _If it was a brand_ ,” he says, then signs, _“why Tony’s,”_ and says _“own name?”_

“ _I_   _can't think_ ,” she signs, “ _of a single reason_ ,” she says, “ _that doesn’t_ ,” she signs, “ _make me_ ,” she says, “ _sick_.”

Clint nods solemnly. “ _And the scars on his back? They look like they were caused from an actual whip, not even a belt, and certainly not a ‘lab accident’_ ,” he says and signs, quoting Tony’s excuse whenever anyone questioned any of his visible scars.

Natasha – well, it would be a pout if she weren’t Natasha. Natasha frowns sadly and nods. “ _I don’t know how we fell for it_.”

“Wishful thinking?” Clint suggests in English.

“What was?”

They both jolt at Coulson’s unexpected question, neither of them having realized he was awake. It was the one problem with how at ease they were around each other; they didn’t pay attention outside of the field to every detail of the situation surrounding the others, and as they depended on their abilities to notice everything, it unnerved them.

“Sorry,” Coulson apologized, shifting slightly but not pushing Clint out of his lap. “I only caught bits of that,” he said. “Something about Natasha being sick, a belt, and a lab accident,” he concludes, looking between the two of them as though they would provide answers. They both stayed silent. Coulson’s brow creased. “ _Is something wrong_?” he asks, speaking in Russian, because even though he doesn’t know their made-up dialect, he can speak this one and none of the others on their team can.

Slowly, Natasha shakes her head. “ _Not anymore_ ,” she says slowly. “ _We have been told that the threat is gone_.”

Phil studies her closely, silently asking if this was why she was so defensive of Tony’s SHIELD check earlier. Natasha lowers her chin half a centimeter and raises her eyebrows the tiniest bit: yes.

And that’s when it really first sinks in for him – his team, his _family_ has a new member. And even if Tony and Steve were to break up – which he is starting to think is highly unlikely – he would still be a part of the team. Someone Clint joked with, one of the few close to Natasha’s heart, a lab partner for Bruce and an outlier companion for Thor. Maybe they wouldn’t meet in the Tower, but Coulson knew that any future with his team would involve Tony in it.

He nodded quickly to Natasha, his signal that whatever was happening he trusted her to know how to handle it, but also made sure that she knew he was available for any help she made need. She nodded back, solemnly and gratefully. They had always had an easy understanding, Natasha and Phil.

The agent turned to look at Clint then. Now, he was the difficult one. Coulson looked into Clint’s eyes for a long moment, saw the fear and concern and worry there, and it made something unspoken of in Phil’s chest ache to know none of those emotions were for him.

Phil shook off the petty and confusing thoughts and made sure to convey the same message he had given Natasha – that he trusted Clint, but that he was here if needed. And if he added more intensity to this assurance than he had with Natasha, then Clint’s returning smile was worth it.

Hours later, after the assassins had fallen asleep and Coulson was the only one who remained awake to see the sunrise before his eyes slowly drifted shut, he was still thinking about that smile.

They all fall asleep like that, scattered across pillows and cushions like a pile of puppies or otters. There was no heavy sense of dread in the air, no storm clouds gathering in the distance – nothing to warn them of the events that would soon threaten to destroy this oasis of peace they had created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: Monday


	13. Chapter 13

Steve was dismantling the bots as quickly as he could – which, apparently, wasn’t very quick at all. It took at least four direct hits from his shield before the robots would start sparking and then a few more to take it down for good. None of them were making much progress against the ever-expanding hoards of bots in downtown Philadelphia except Hulk and Thor, but two against hundreds were not odds in their favor.

“Hey guys, do you know if there’s a shawarma joint in Downtown Philly?”

Steve’s head jerked up as the bot in front of him exploded, just in time to catch the flash of red and gold across the sky above him. He heard Hulk’s approving roar. That confirmed it then; Iron Man had joined the fight.

And, it seemed, was winning it.

Repulsor beams sent the robots flying through he air in bits and pieces, much faster than Hulk crushing them or Thor slamming his hammer down. Iron Man flew through the air in giant, looping swirls, hands extended and taking down dozens at a time, all the while running his mouth on the hacked comms.

“Seriously, I was in the middle of something very important when I get the call that Philly’s hanging by the thread– I _hate_ being interrupted. And it was important, actually important! My boss is going to be _so_ pissed, and she is not the kind of person you want to mess with. I’ve seen superheroes quake in their boots when confronted with her. But she’s awesome. I think you and her would get along awesomely, Widow. She has red hair too.”

Steve stepped back, letting Iron Man work and watching him closely. Almost all the androids were destroyed at this point, and there were none around him. “Iron Man, three on your right,” Steve barked into the comms, interrupting the man mid-ramble.

“-and then she was all ‘why are you late for work?’ and I almost said ‘well, you see the news this morning? Yeah, that was me,’ but I couldn’t of course, caught myself in time, so I got put on fucking probation! You would not believe how hard it is to be a non-government supported superhero. That kind of shit happens _all the time_. I usually get through it by imagining their faces if they learned I was Iron Man.”

“Iron Man!” Steve yelled into the comms as one of the larger bots leapt from the roof of a building where it’d been hiding and fell on top of the armor.

Iron Man just casually turned into a ninety-degree tailspin dive, knocking the bot off and not stopping in his rant. “I met this chick once who would not stop going on and on about how hot Iron Man was – do you know how _awkward_ that was? First of all, ‘cause I'm metal – well, _I'm_ not, but the only me she knows is, so what kind of kink is that? Secondly, because she was talking about _me_ , and didn’t know it. And thirdly ‘cause I'm taken. Seriously annoying when people hit on you.”

Iron Man landed in the center of the street, high fiving Hulk when the brute ran up to him. “Great fighting out there, Jolly Green,” he crowed.

“Well fought, Man of Iron,” Thor said, sheathing his hammer and approaching as well. “Without you, I would’ve feared for this fine city.”

“All in a hard day’s work,” said Iron Man, kicking rubble away with his booted foot. “Hey Hulk, think Cap would let us play Frisbee with his shield?”

Hulk roared his approval as Clint dropped down from his perch. “Wait, am I the only one who heard that?” he asked. “Iron Man has a _girlfriend_?”

“Never said that, Archie,” Iron Man clipped, looking the bowman over. “Might wanna get that ankle checked out, it’ll be a bitch the walk on if you don’t ice it, trust me.”

“But you said you were taken,” Clint objected before thinking a moment. “Boyfriend, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “No judgment here of course.”

“Bingo, hot shot,” said Iron Man, making a finger gun – well, since he was Iron Man, it was probably closer to an actual gun, really. “I’m just into dudes.”

“So you’re gay?” asked Clint, walking up to Iron Man.

“I think you’re assuming something,” said Iron Man, and suddenly the voice was – well, it was the same metallic voice, but now it was distinctively feminine and – British? “The media gave me the name Iron Man – ‘sides, it’s catchy. And I wasn’t going to be the one to contradict them anyway,” says Iron – Woman? Steve really can't tell.

Clint looks confused too. “So… you’re straight?” he asks, looking fairly uncomfortable.

“True answer?” asked Iron – oh, fuck it, Iron _Person_ , and they all perk up, thinking they’ll finally get a clue as to who is behind the mask. The only one who doesn’t care is Hulk, who’s currently kicking around slabs of rock larger than the living room in Steve’s childhood home. “It doesn’t matter,” and Steve can tell that they’re smiling behind the mask. “It really doesn’t.”

“Oh, poo you,” says Clint petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest. Hulk laughs and it rumbles through he destroyed street.

"Quite true, comrade,” Thor agrees with a grin.

Steve looks around the space around them. “Guys, where’s Widow?” he demands, once he’s noticed the absence he felt. They all fall into fighting stances as Steve barks into the comms, “Widow, report!”

“Unharmed, Captain,” comes the immediate response. “Just following orders.”

As if on cue – and it probably was – something flies through the air directly in front of Steve’s sightline – and right into Iron Man. It’s a dart, Steve sees, as they all start forward. Something mechanical if the streams of energy radiating out of it from where it impaled the suit is anything to go by. Hooks have sprouted from the base and locked firmly into the suit – denting it and preventing Iron Man from pulling it out as he’s trying desperately to do. As the final lock clamps down on the metal, Iron Man freezes and his body and blue sparks fly over the suit. Hulk growls and surges forward, reaching forward before on energy strand springs out and zaps his fingers, earning a roar.

“Clint, don’t touch it!” Steve bellows, halting Clint’s outstretched hand. “It hurt Hulk, it might kill you,” he barks, moving forward to. “Widow, get down here!” he yells. “Iron Man, are you okay? Iron Man, report.”

A staticy groan fills the line. “I – I’m fine,” Iron Man gasps out, back to the male voice, making Steve guess that it’s the default. Then he groans, louder this time. The suit remains completely still. “What – whatever it is, it’s shutting down the suit. That – that means limited everything and nothing of some things. And – oh _fuck_ , it’s getting through he amour – burns like tiny pinpricks of boiling needles-”

Iron Man cuts of with a yelp of pain and Steve has to physically restrain from reaching out and touching again. Hulk doesn’t restrain however, but he gets shocked again, and this time, his roar shakes Steve down to his core.

“Widow, where are you!” Clint shouts, eyes searching the skies and buildings. “What is this? What did you do?”

Steve looks at Hawkeye in shock for a moment before his eyes dart to the sudden movement where Iron Man stood. The suit crashed to the ground with a banging clatter as the power turns off. Steve is the first by his side, hands roving over the body looking for a way to get the metal off after ensuring he won’t be burned by it.

Suddenly a hand is on his shoulder and pushing him back. Steve falls onto his haunches as Natasha leans over the suit, fingers easily finding the release clamps for the helmet.

“Oh god, Nat, what do you have against me?” groans a voice, and Steve freezes, eyes staring at the side of the suit because – because he _knows_ that voice, knows it so well. It fills his dreams and his fantasies, as well as the best parts of his day. He could never mistake that voice. Natasha stands frozen above the prone figure, confirming what Steve already knows. “I never did anything to you, did I? I don’t think I did but – fucking god damn it, I'm sorry for whatever I did to deserve your wrath,” the voice says, strained and hurt, and the suit twitches as the figure fights to move.

Steve’s brain comes back to him all at once and he scrabbles across the ground, collapsing at the man’s side, and looking down at Iron Man’s face – but not for the first time.

Tony looks up at him and smirks. It’s put-upon and painful looking against his pale and bruised face, and Steve feels his heart stop even though he knew what he would see. “Heya, soldier-boy,” Tony groans, shifting slightly under Steve. “Surprised?”

“Tony?” Clint gasps from over Steve’s shoulders. “You’re – what – you – you’re _Iron Man_?”

“Real sharp tool this one is,” Tony groans. “What the fuck was that? An EMP dart or a portable electric chair?”

Natasha remains frozen, every muscle in her body locked in shock. The look on her face doesn’t even begin to describe the way Steve feels like on the inside – like his life is melting around him, burning to the ground, short-circuiting, whatever. It feels like it’s all over. Tony, _Tony,_ the one half-sane part of his life, the peace and the break he got with this man that he loved, his only friend who wasn’t a superhero or a spy or both, was Iron Man, America’s favorite.

This could not be happening.

Then the pieces clicked back together and suddenly Steve understood with a disastrous clarity. Everything made sense. Pepper Stark, Tony's close friend and a philanthropist billionaire, owner of the world’s largest and most adept tech labs, where Tony worked. The perfect benefiter for a genius who needed to build a several million-dollar machine to protect the world. The never properly explained bruises and injuries, the nights he just disappeared, never being available when Steve called after a fight…. It all made sense.

Steve felt a cold wave of… nothing fall over him and he pushed away from the suit and stood up, face blank of emotion. Clint cast him a worried look before shoving him and Natasha back and kneeling by Tony. “How do I get this off?” he asked.

“There’s a small lever on the seam of the right side of the suit,” Tony said through gritted teeth. “Pull it and I’ll be out. I put yours and Steve’s DNA into the scan as a forethought a while ago.”

Clint looked surprised, but he skimmed his fingers down the side of the suit and found the release lever, pulling it. The suit made a steaming noise before loosening. Steve pulled it open, throwing it off the pained genius. Tony was wearing a skintight spandex-like suit underneath, but it filled with holes that were burned around the edges, and his skin was red and blistering where it was revealed. Tony groaned in relief and rolled out of the metal, stretching his muscles. Clint stood up and helped Tony to his feet, letting the genius lean heavily on him until Hulk lumbered up and gently picked up the genius and cradled him in his arms. It was an absolutely bizarre sight for Steve to see, the Hulk being so gentle and careful with his boyfriend.

“Tin Man hurt,” Hulk sniffed, before glaring at Natasha. “Big Spider hurt Tin Man,” he growled, pulling Tony closer to his chest.

Clint breathed out and ran his hands roughly through his hair. “Holy fuck,” he whispered, shaking his head, then louder, “Holy _fuck!_ What the fuck is happening?” he demanded, whirling on Steve and Nat. “Why are you just standing there? How are you not freaking out right now? And you,” he whirled to Tony, who was hesitantly peeking out from the folds of Hulk’s muscles arms. “You’re fucking _Iron Man_? What the hell dude? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Tony struggled to sit up, glaring at Clint. “Because this is what happened when you learned,” he said, waving his burned arm. “And it’s not like you told me you were the fucking Avengers, so you have no fucking reason to be mad at me!”

“But you knew,” Natasha spoke finally, snapping out of her daze. “You knew even though we didn’t tell you.”

Tony rolled his eyes, gripping Hulk’s arm. “Of course I _knew_ ,” he spat. “I’m a genius! It’s my fucking job to know! And you guys were pretty obvious too – come on, I work for SI, you think I don’t know everything that happens in that building?”

Natasha shook her head and turned away, her muscles tense. “This is unbelievable,” she murmured.

“You’re just pissed you didn’t realize it,” Tony snapped.

Natasha whirled around. “Of course I'm pissed!” she snarled. “I’m the best spy in this world – not knowing means I’ve failed my job, and that means I'm a risk.”

Tony pursed his lips, eyes burning with cold fury. “You’re not the only one who knows how to keep secrets, Nat,” he spits. “And you’re not the only one who needs to keep them.”

Steve sees Natasha poise to snap back, but then the sounds of helicopters and speeding SUVs reached his enhanced ears. “Widow, Hawk,” he snaps, interrupting the fight. “What will SHIELD do if they get their hands on Iron Man?”

Tony pales further and starts struggling in Hulk’s arms. “They can't get the suit,” he says, terror cursing his words. “I get SHIELD are the technical good guys and all, but if they get their hands on it, they’ll recreate it. I can promise you there are spies in SHIELD. If SHIELD makes an army out of them, or someone snitches it from them, then the world is doomed. One of these things in the hands of the wrong person could destroy the world and I am _not_ being dramatic.” Hulk finally put Tony down and the genius stumbled across the ground, collapsing against the suit, his hands shaking as the searching inside of it. “They can't get it,” he mumbled. “The world will burn if they get it.”

When Natasha puts her hands on the genius’ shoulders, Tony instantly starts to shove her off, but the assassin rolls her eyes. “You’re shaking, Tony,” she says firmly, pushing him to the ground. “And you’re right. Tell me what to do,” she says firmly, eyes hard with determination.

Steve glances at the end of the streets. “You have two minutes tops before SHIELD gets here,” he announces, and she doesn’t fight the decision. Thor and Clint don’t either. Thor is still silently looking between the suit and Tony like he can't make sense of it. Steve doesn’t hold it against the guy.

Tony takes a second to study Natasha before he nods. “On the inside of the helmet,” he says, “there’s a small panel of smooth black glass. Break it.”

Natasha does as she’s told, picking up a small rock and neatly breaking the glass. “Everybody get ready to run,” Tony said, shifting painfully to his knees before Hulk picks him up. “Code 53, part AX,” Tony calls, coughing slightly at the strain of it.

“Password?” rings a highly mechanical voice from the suit.

“191874,” Tony rattles, glancing at Steve. Steve feels his muscles lock for a second and he stares at Tony in question. Tony just nods before looking back to Nat. “Press the button. We’ll have five seconds to run. Clint, Nat, I suggest you get up here and Hulk’ll get us out, Steve, you can outrun it, Thor, take off.” Clint nods and climbs up Hulk’s back after a slight hesitation. Thor lazily swings his hammer having regained some of his senses. Steve stares at Tony as he backs up. “Okay big guy, ready?” Tony asks. Hulk nods determinedly. “Okay then. Nat, push it.”

Natasha hits the button before jumping into Hulk’s arms just as they all take off running away from the suit. For a moment, as Steve dives into an alley, he wonders if the explosion didn’t activate, before a wave of heat and pressure rolls down the street, exploding windows – although that might be the atomic bomb-sound the suit makes as it shatters apart into molecules and atoms, no more. Knowing Tony though, Steve has no doubt there are other models in case this happens, probably being kept locked up in a deep cellar at SI –right under their noses.

Steve waits ten seconds before darting out of his shelter, and freezes in shock. Where the Iron Man suit was is now a twelve-foot deep crater of blasted rock and dirt. Dust from the explosion swirls through the air before settling on the big chunks of concrete now littered on the ground in two layers. All the glass within a hundred and fifty foot perimeter around the space is decimated.

Thor lands next to Steve softly and surveys the damage with a critical eye. The sirens grow louder in the distance and Steve sees the SHIELD issue helicopters through the space between buildings. They’d been forced to clear out everyone except for the Avengers, as the bots seemed to have an affinity for destroying vehicles.

Steve sees Hulk lumber out of an ally fifty meters away from him, Natasha and Clint following behind him and Tony stumbling out in front. Tony collapses to his knees when he sees the crater – but Steve doesn’t know if it’s because his suit, his master piece, is gone, or if it’s because of residual pain and exhaustion over whatever it was Natasha hit him with.

Tony looks up and just for a moment, rubble and distance separating them, and there eyes meet, soft brown to crystal blue. Steve holds his gaze for as long as he can, ignores the hand Thor sets on his shoulder and the sounds of approaching SHIELD vehicles, and just watches him. The boy he loves. The boy who lied to him.

And then there’s shouting and helicopters and blacks vans and swarming agents and Steve’s view of Tony is blocked. He looks away, sees Thor watching him closely, asking him silently if he is all right. Steve shakes his head and looks back to the new crater gracing Philadelphia’s streets. Nothing about today has been all right. None of it makes sense. Steve only knows one thing.

Everything was about to fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise? ;)
> 
> So this marks the end of Part 1 of the story! Yay! And because we are now entering the second part, the next update won't be until October 7th (EST) so that I can whip what's already written of the Part 2 into shape and make some progress on the storyline. Sorry for cliffhanger!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's... been a month.  
> BUT! I have the entire second part written! So, fast updates!

Tony is decked out in restraints and shoved into the back of a van that quickly skids away despite Clint’s enraged shouting and Hulk’s roaring. Steve watches silently and ignores the way Clint’s glare turns to him as they climb into the back of a different van, sans Bruce, who probably won’t be joining them for a while.

“Are you just going to let them take him?” Clint snarls, hands fisted at his sides and the car bounces over the destroyed seat.

“He lied to us,” Natasha says, crossing her arms tightly. “Lied about who he was, what he did.”

“He didn’t do anything more than we did!” Clint objected turning to her. “We lied about the same things, and at the very least he knew that he wasn’t endangering us by becoming friends. We all thought that we were putting a civilian at unnecessary risk.”

“That has nothing to do with the situation at hand,” Natasha snapped briskly. “The point is that we apparently don’t really know anything about Tony.”

“We know the important things,” Clint growled. “We know the things that make him who he is-”

“Unless it was all an act,” Natasha butted in, glaring at her partner. “He could be a spy, an assassin, or-”

“We are both spy assassins!” Clint hollered. “Both of us kill people for living! You can't say that Tony is here to kill us when he’s had a thousand opportunities to do so and hasn’t yet.”

“Then he’s here to gather information on us,” Natasha defended quickly.

“I have severe doubts the Man of Iron – or interchangeably, our comrade Anthony would ever so such a thing,” Thor said gravely, shaking his head. “One thing I have observed in my many decades is that those who tell falsehoods have reason to tell them. We must here Master Tony’s reasoning before we judge him to harshly.”

“Thank you, Thor,” Clint huffs, crossing his arms over his chest tightly and glaring at the wall of the van. His silence only last a second before he’s whipping around the face Steve, fire in his eyes. “Don’t you have anything to say about this?” he snaps.

Steve keeps his eyes trained on his gloved fists, curling and uncurling his fingers to keep from letting all of his composure. He can't think right now or he’ll break down completely.

Clint barks a laugh that sounds rough and painful. “I can't believe you guys,” he says, strained.

“He lied to me.” Steve doesn’t mean to say the words, doesn’t mean for them to ever see the light of day, but they come out anyway. “He didn’t…. He should’ve told me,” Steve says weakly, shaking his head.

He can feel Clint’s bristling anger. “And if he had?” the archer snaps. “What would you have done? Turned him into SHIELD? Broken his heart? He’s been out there, protecting people even though he didn’t have to. He’s a civilian who put himself directly in the middle of action way so he could _help_ people, and the lot of you are acting like he sneaks out at night to go on serial killer binges.”

“How do we know he wasn’t using us?” Natasha asks, and Steve flinches at the blunt words. “You have to admit it’s suspicious, him just happening to run into us at a coffee shop one day, giving Steve his number. He’s infiltrated our home-”

“You invited him in!” Clint roars. “That is not infiltration! And we were the ones who went to that coffee shop!”

“He was supposed to be normal.”

Steve knows his voice cracks when he says the words, and he feels sympathy from Natasha, confusion from Thor, and infuriation from Clint.

“Fuck you!” the archer snarls, lurching forward, only stopped by Thor’s large hand gripping his shoulder to hold him in place. “ _Fuck_ you! You told us you loved him, you fucker, not that you loved _normal_! You chose the wrong fucking life if you wanted _normal._ If you hurt him because your head is so fucking far up your ass you can't see that your breaking his heart because he’s not _normal_ – I will _end_ you, Rogers! I will put a fucking arrow through your head!”

“Clint,” Natasha admonishes, looking objective to Clint’s anger.

“Friends,” Thor rumbles, looking quickly between them, “we must not be hasty with issuing threats in times of upheaval.”

Steve ignores Thor. “He _lied_ to me, Clint, about everything!” Steve objects.

Clint pulls back, his righteous anger turning into seething fury in the blink of an eye. “You’re a moron if you think that,” he hisses cruelly. “If you are really so compromised that you can't fucking see that _Tony_ is _Tony,_ even if he wears a mask sometimes, then I don’t feel safe with you as my captain, and no way in hell will I follow you into battle.”

Steve is shocked down to his core for the second time that day at Clint’s expression of mutiny, but he doesn’t have time to respond. Out of luck or a gift for dramatic timing, the van stops and Clint opens the door and jumps out, storming away from his team and into the bustling SHIELD building.

Steve stares after him, feeling something slimy and dark writhing in his stomach. Natasha’s hand on his knee startles him out of his fixation.

“What is said in the heated argument of a moment does not always reflect the true thoughts of the speaker,” Thor rumbles softly, and Natasha nods in agreement before tagging on,

“Clint doesn’t want to believe that he’s been betrayed,” she says, “but more than that, Clint has one of the things that I lack, and that is a faith in people.” She straightens up and removes pulls her hand back, becoming Black Widow again. “He doesn’t mean it,” she remarked swiftly. “For now though, we need to be Avengers. Can you do that, Captain?”

Steve feels the instinct rising up within him, even in his shell-shocked state. “Yes, Agent Romanov,” he responds and stands up as well, disembarking from the vehicle and flanked by the measly remains of his team. “We have work to do,” Captain America says.

On the inside, Steve Rogers begins to weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update (if i don't inevitably forget): Tomorrow


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the overwhelming response i got on the last chapter! it was so great to get all of your comments!  
> (also warning for clint whump)

It seemed that both Thor and Natasha had been correct in their assessment of Clint’s reaction in the van, for the agent had not taken his head start to disappear into the depths of SHIELD’s ventilation shafts. Instead he stood, arms folded tightly across his chest and glaring at everyone and anyone in the room, leaning against the wall to the left of the doors. He had chosen a spot that would allow him to see the entrance to SHIELD’s main lobby as well as the elevators that would take its agents to the more secretive areas of the building.

Steve pauses once in his stride, for just a millisecond, before he changes his original directory and heads begins to head towards Clint.

The archer knew Steve was headed his way before the super-soldier turned, but he doesn’t react even when Steve stands beside him and falls into parade rest, in contrast to Clint’s fuming slouch. Natasha takes up Clint’s other side and  Thor hover on the edges.

Scanning his team, Steve feels sick to his guts. Thor looks upset and confused, like a golden retriever who doesn’t know where his favorite ball has been thrown, and Steve doesn’t even know where to begin when it comes to comforting Asgardian gods. Natasha is in full, emotionless secret-agent mode, face a carefully carved mask of ice. Clint is fuming and that just isn't right on the quirky and happy bowman that Steve is so used to seeing.

Betrayal – or whatever the fuck is going on – is clearly not something any of them are good at dealing with.

Not knowing how to even begin approaching any of the issues that need tackling, Steve chooses to remain silent, and the other follow his lead for several long and tense moments.

Surprisingly, it’s Natasha who breaks it.

“Here they come,” she announced softly, and Steve follows her calculating gaze to the backdoor of SHIELD’s lobby, used for the shadier sides of their business.

About a dozen agent of varying status are ‘escorting’ two others into the building. One is unmistakably Pepper Stark, striding across the linoleum floors in heals and a stylish power suit, with all the confidence as if she’s the one arresting someone for interrogation and making the agents holding onto her cuffed wrists stumble to keep up. The other, a young boy with brown hair that is slouched between the agents moving him and seems to be minutely resisting, Steve doesn’t recognize.

“Pepper Stark and Spiderman,” Natasha declares. “Also known as Peter Parker,” she tags on.

Steve looks to her in confusion. “Why have they brought in Spiderman?” he asks.

Natasha shrugs delicately. “I believe that after multiple sightings of Iron Man and Spiderman together, Peter Parker was brought in and questioned as to whether he knew the identity of Iron Man,” she explained. “He denied it, claiming that he only knew the superhero not the person behind the mask. If he is here now, and under duress as it would appear, that is likely because one of the agents on the case found evidence that he had been lying.”           

“It could be a coincidence,” Clint grumbles, shifting against the wall and watching as the two are escorted out of the room.

“You know it’s not,” Natasha sighs wearily.

“Comrades, there is little point in quarreling amongst ourselves about a situation to which we do not fully understand,” Thor chimes in before Clint can snap at his partner. “There are factors underfoot that we have yet to uncover, and pointing fingers before the full story is revealed is what leads to the greatest tragedies,” he says gravely.

“Thor is right,” Steve chimes in with a soft sigh. “We don’t – none of us know what’s happening right now, or who is to blame. So, I say for now we call a truce,” he said hesitantly. Clint instantly started to speak up but Steve held up his hand. “There’s no point in fighting about this when anyone of us might be completely wrong about what’s going on,” Steve rationalized. “Each of us is looking at this from a different angle, and until we have the right facts in place to riddle this out, we don’t know which shot is the clearest.” Clint frowned but didn’t vocally object. “Can we agree that, as of right now, we stop fighting and focus on figuring out why – why Tony was in the suit, why he didn’t tell us about it, and if there are any outside influences we have not yet discovered?” the captain asked, trying very hard to speak neutrally. They were all prejudiced about this in one way or another, but as leader of the team, it was his job to keep unity.

He just hoped he succeeded.

After a tense moment, Clint nodded, not looking happy about it but Steve knew that once the archer had agreed, he wouldn’t go back. None of them were stupid and whatever the outcome, what was happening now was important. Petty fights over opinions would only lead to discord among themselves, and that would lead to disaster.

Steve nodded gratefully at the assassin, making sure that the _thank you_ was clearly read in his eyes.

“Comrades,” Thor spoke up a second later, but when Steve looked at the Asgardian, he was staring in the opposite direction. “It appears our last member approaches.”

Steve turned quickly and sure enough, Bruce was bee lining through the lobby towards them, two agents following behind him and dressed in only his stretchy hulk pants. They weren’t quite hustling him through the building as the other agents had been with Pepper and Spiderman, but it was clear that they were watching him. A quick glance around confirmed Steve’s suspicion that Bruce wasn’t the only one with agents on his tail.

“What is happening?” the doctor hissed as soon as he was close enough to his teammates. His glare coupled with the angry tone was a sure sign that the Hulk was not to far away (despite the fact that Bruce had only recently turned back) never mind the glowing green irises. But Steve didn’t know whether is was from stress, fear, or anger. “All I can remember is Iron Man going down, but now Tony is in custody? What the hell did you guys do?”

“Bruce, you need to take a deep breath,” Steve instructed, trying to install the Captain American everything-will-be-fine-and-there-is-nothing-to-worry-about tone into his voice.

Bruce glares at him before closing his eyes and turning slightly to the left before breathing out slowly. When he opens his eyes again, they are brown once more. “Someone tell me what’s happening,” he demanded, though much more reasonably than before.

“I believe I can help with that.”

In sync, the five Avengers turn to see Maria Hill, standing in between two lackeys, arms folded behind her back. “Avengers,” she says in her lilted, no-nonsense voice, “follow me.”

 +++

It’s not their usual debrief room. The walls are a darker grey, the lights slightly less bright, and it’s not as big. But the table still fits them all, even with a god and a super-soldier, and the screens at the front of the room are just as high tech as anywhere else in shield, so nobody mentions it even as they sit in silence. They don’t mention the nameless agent wearing sunglasses who is standing at the door.

Fury bursts through the door, nearly smacking the on guard agent in the head, but it appears he’s accustomed to this because the man quickly ducks out of the way and avoids the collision. Fury doesn’t take note, striding angrily into the room, Maria Hill on the tail of his cloak.

“What the _fuck_ , people,” Fury growls, stopping at the head of the table and slamming his hands down on the metal hard enough that it vibrates. “In the last hour I have been informed that not only has one of SHIELD’s most wanted men has been sleeping with the leader of a team that operates with the help of _my_ agency, but that my two best spies had gotten _chummy_ with the target.” He aimed a particularly fierce one-eyed glare at Clint and Natasha, before sweeping the gaze over all of them. “And you expect me to believe that you didn’t _know_?” he snarls.

“With respect, director,” Natasha begins, face completely blank in a way that would seem calm to someone who didn’t know her, “it appears that Stanley was a master at deception and secrecy. I ran him through SHIELD’s own database and nothing surfaced.”

Fury looks just about ready to tear somebody’s head off. “And somehow, that does not make me any less ready to _trip one of your heads of your neck_.”

It seemed like Steve’s ability to read people had been improving.

“Director,” he jumped in, not wanting one of his team members to be taking the brunt of the attack when he was not only the captain, but also at the very center of this situation, “with all due respect, have you confirmed that To- that Stanley is the full-time operator of the Iron Man armor?” he asked, not believing that Tony wasn’t. He knew that it had been Tony in the suit the whole time, but still, the comfort of it being validated by an organization as competent as SHIELD would be very welcome.

Fury pulled his hands off the table and began to pace. Maria Hill tracked the movement with her eyes, standing still a bit behind her boss. “It’s been confirmed that he built and flies it yet, but there’s extenuating circumstances that have yet to be fully understood,” Fury informs them. “We just completed the interrogation of Stanley’s employer and confidant, Pepper Stark, and she claims that he was under duress during the entirety of Iron Man’s existence.”

“Would the hell does that mean?” Clint demanded before Steve could.

Fury fixed a cold stare on his agent and stilled. “None of you are cleared for duty, so you aren’t privy to any incoming info about this case,” he said frigidly.

Natasha in particular looked pissed by this announcement, and opened her mouth, likely planning to share with Fury just what her thoughts on that were, when the door opened, cutting her off before she began.

Coulson strode into the room, not making eye contact with any of them but keeping his eyes on the director who turned to him. “What?” Fury snapped.

Coulson stopped about two feet from Fury and fell into parade rest. It was clear by the unusual formality being displayed between the two of them that both were certainly feeling the affects of the high-stress situation. “Peter Parker, alias Spiderman, is ready to be questioned,” Coulson informed in a monotone but quick paced voice. “Agent Rowan will be executing that questioning. Tony Stanley’s DNA has been sent down to the lab to be analyzed, either for past infractions or possible narcotics or hallucinogenics in his system.”

“You think he’s on drugs?” Steve bit out.

Coulson’s eyes briefly flicked over to meet the captain’s. “It’s possible that someone is controlling Stanley’s actions and motives, and if that is the case then drugs may be a factor. We’ll be able to find out with a tox screen.”

“Has he been to the med bay yet?” Bruce demanded. “From what it sounds like, he went down pretty hard, and whatever you guys had to fire into his system almost certainly caused injury.”

“At this current time Stanley is not suffering from any life-threatening afflictions, and he is considered too much of a fight-or-flight risk to leave unguarded and unrestrained at the time,” Coulson said smoothly, eyes swooping to Bruce.

Bruce’s eyes were suddenly vividly green and he was out of his chair and snarling before anyone could react. The seams of his shirt stretched and his skin was rapidly changing colors.

Steve was about to reach out and attempt to soothe the doctor – though it would likely be futile – but surprisingly, it was Natasha who beat him to the chase.

Having vaulted over the metal table to Bruce’s side, she forcefully turned the man to face her, making him meet her eyes. “Bruce,” she said calmly, carefully placing her thin, pale hands on his ever-growing shoulders. “You need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” Bruce snapped, voice several octaves lower than usual. “I’m not the one who isn't providing medical service to an injured civilian!”

“No, you would never do that,” Natasha agreed smoothly. “And you’re correct to say that we shouldn’t be doing that. I am sure the situation will soon be rectified.” She turned to look at Coulson, eyes hard, and Bruce followed her gaze. “Isn't that right, Phil?” she asked icily.

After a short glance to Fury, Coulson turned back to the assassin and nodded. “It will be a few hours before Stanley will be interviewed in any case,” he mollified, as if this had been his idea. “I will see to it that he receives any medical attention he requires.”

“Good,” Natasha said curtly, before looking back to Bruce, already the man’s skin seemed a little less green, his eyes a little less radioactive. Steve didn’t miss the way Natasha flexed her hands on Bruce’s shoulder in an awkward imitation of what was probably meant to be a comforting squeeze. He also didn’t miss the way Bruce instantly relaxed when she did so, the extras muscles melting away along with the green tint as he slid back into his chair.

Natasha swiftly rounded the table and sat back down, hands folded politely on the metal in front of her as though one of her closest friends hadn't just nearly turned into a green ball of protective rage five times bigger than he normally was. Steve admired her for that – the complete ability to roll with a situation and keep her emotions in check. The captain desperately wished he were capable of that. Maybe he’d be handling this whole situation better if he were.

Fury, throwing an irritated glance at an embarrassed looking Bruce and then an unrepentant looking Natasha, asked Coulson, “Anything else?” he asks, clearly at the end of his rope.

“No, director,” Coulson says, taking the question as a dismissal. He turns but Clint, who’s sitting closest to where Coulson was standing, tries to grab his arm.

“Phil, please, you have to-” Clint starts, and Steve can see the desperation in the archer’s eyes. He starts thinking about Clint’s early days for the first time – he worked at the circus for years, but before that he was a little kid who just didn’t want his dad to hurt him anymore. And after the circus he was a seventeen-year-old who needed cash enough that he’d get into back alley brawls and bet on himself, because he knew he could win. And then he was a paid-killer, and maybe not all of those kills were definitely of the bad guys but Clint was young and he just wanted to _eat_. And it was Coulson – recruitment Agent Phillip Coulson all those years ago who ended that circle of pain. It’s not something Steve can exactly relate to, but he knows it’s a deep bond.

Steve finally spares a second to think about _why_ Clint is so adamant that Tony hasn’t done anything wrong. Most of Clint’s life, and still a significant part of it now, has been dealt in the shadows. There have been countless betrayals and there have been too many people he loved turn on him or – maybe even worse – walk away and leave him alone. But now Clint has the Avengers, and they are his family. And Tony is part of that family, had most certainly become that in the last few months. Clint treats him like the younger brother he never had.

Maybe that’s why Clint’s fighting these accusations tooth-and-nail. Because if he’s wrong, and Tony isn't the good person they think he is, then he’ll just become another name on a too long list of people who have duped Clint Barton.

All of this occurs to Steve in the few seconds it takes for Clint to grab onto Coulson’s sleeve and for the agent to pull his arm from the grip, striding out of the room without even the tiniest glances at the agent he saved years ago.

From the heartbroken look on Clint’s face and the way his hand hovers in mid-air, it appears that it’s not Tony’s name on the list today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update: monday


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny chapter.

Fury leaves soon after Coulson, and Maria a few minutes after him. The nameless, sunglass-wearing agent by the door follows her out and the Avengers are left alone in the room.

Despite the pseudo-privacy, nobody speaks.

Steve thinks about their earlier days. Somewhere around a month after the Battle of New York, Coulson had contacted them in all of their various hideaways. Bruce had been in India, Steve in Washington, Thor following Jane around like a lost puppy, and Clint and Natasha were skulking around SHIELD, no longer sure where their place as agents was anymore.

Coulson had brought them all back to New York headquarters and told them that the world needed saving, especially now that they all civilians were becoming aware of just how dangerous the universe they lived in really was. They needed protection, but more than that, they needed to know they were being protected.

Thus, the Avengers were born. Well, reborn, and this time permanently.

Virginia Stark had quickly become to biggest funder of the Avengers, not only giving money but also living space and instruction on how to navigate the rough political waters they would be facing. She created a sanctuary in her home for them, and really, that was how the Avengers went from _team_ to _family_.

It happened because of cuddling on the couch, and communal meals after missions. They melded together through movie nights in the den, windows over looking all of New York, and takeout in the high-tech kitchens. Bruce thrived with all the labs and equipment he wanted, Clint hooted with joy over the ventilation systems, even Natasha had to admit that the gyms were incredible, and Thor and Steve were finally given the time and resources to truly learn and connect with modern/human society.

They were only enabled to become what they did because, in the long run, Virginia “Call Me Pepper” Stark did what she did. And though Steve did not personally know the woman well, he knew he would forever be grateful for that.

Clint has is leaning against the table, his head held up with one hand, eyes closed. Natasha is sitting very still next to him, though her eyes keep flicking between him and Bruce. The doctor looks exhausted, probably from the earlier hulking-out combined with the close call not even half an hour previously. Thor looks miserable, or in other words, looks how Steve feels. Like the basics of common life are beginning to crack under his feet.

Steve doesn’t know where the words come from. “Whatever happens from this point forward,” he begins, and all of them sans Clint look to him, “whatever is discovered about Tony, whatever is done with Ms. Potts… whatever SHIELD decides in regards to us….” Steve pauses and this time Clint does meet his gaze, head tilting up. “Whatever happens, you will still be my friends, my teammates, and my family,” Steve gets out, meeting each of their eyes. “As you have been for the past months, years. These are rough waters, which is something we are all familiar with, but we must rely on each other, trust each other. That is what being a team is.” Steve then adds, words softer, “That is what being a family is.”

His eyes have fallen to the surface of the table, so he’s surprised when he feels a hand in his. He looks up to Natasha, and squeezes her hand. A quick glance tells the captain that they’ve all joined hands around table, and Bruce takes his free one.

“You are right, good Captain,” Thor rumbles solemnly. “But I do not think it wise to mourn and persevere through what we have not yet lost.”

Almost as if on cue, the door opens.

Coulson, looking much less put-together then during their debrief, pushes into the room. “I can't believe we’ve stumbled into this mess,” he declares, sinking down into the chair at the front of the table across from Steve. “But,” he continues tiredly, “I’ve managed to clear you of suspicion. It is no longer being investigated whether that lot of you knew about Iron Man and withheld information. You’re completely reinstated once you clear rudimentary psych evals to see how you’re dealing with the situation, and that will come once everything has been finalized.”

Steve blinks, then looks between the agent and Clint. The archer is looking at the table, and Natasha seems to be glaring at Coulson, and when did everything become such a mess?

The reactions of the two archers are not lost on Coulson – very little is – and Steve sees emotion flicker through the usually bland man, but the other does not address it.

He stands up, straightens his suit jacket, and meets Steve’s eyes. “Mr. Stanley is about the be interrogated,” he informs the captain, and Steve’s muscles lock up. “If you would so please, I can take you to watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update on Wednesday


	17. Chapter 17

“You’re only allowed because you’re high-level agents and I’ve managed to pull a few strings,” Coulson grumbled, leading them down the twisting halls of SHIELD’s fourth sublevel. Steve was quite sure that most of SHIELD’s layout had been designed to be as nonsensical as possible to confuse criminals trying to escape or enemies trying to infiltrate. Nevertheless, it worked, and Steve had once had an anagogical nightmare about getting lost in these hallways and starving to death, no one ever once stumbling upon him.

Steve shook his head to clear it of the ramblings. Apparently, the recent lack of food and sleep – not to mention shock – was getting to him.

Phil was still talking. “I personally wouldn’t recommend watching,” he said mildly. “Seeing someone… close to you in such a situation can be unsettling and even angering.” He stopped his long strides and turned to face the four of them. Thor had claimed he would rather go down to the SHIELD labs to learn about how DNA was examined and see if the techs there were learning anything about Tony’s past through his blood. Steve was pretty sure that the Norse god had simply wanted to get away for a second and calm down, but he didn’t say anything and let Thor go with no fuss.

“If, at any point during the interrogation, you begin to feel alarmingly high levels of either of those emotions, I request you leave the room,” Coulson said calmly, meeting each of their eyes. “No, Dr. Banner, this request is not directed at you,” he added when Bruce looked down at his feet. “I am saying this because the events of the last twenty-four hours can very easily be creating serious mental damage on any of you,” he said. “You will want to lesson that as much as you can, and that means taking yourself out of stressful situations. Understood?”

“Understood,” Natasha and Clint both said with identical curt nods. Phil’s eyes flicked over to Clint, but the archer was not meeting his eyes. It was only half a second, and then he was turning around, assured walk continued, never once doubting which corner to turn.

This part of SHIELD – which Steve had been informed was mostly used to hold and interrogate suspects of smaller crimes – looked very much like any generic government building Steve had been in, and, in some ways, reminded him of the place where he’d undergone the super-solider experimentation. It could’ve been a hospital, a police office, a post office, a bank, or a low-security prison, and Steve had the feeling most people would not be surprised if it was any one of those things. The walls were white, the lighting was almost too bright, and the tiles were linoleum. This was probably very intentional on part of SHIELD’s designers and done so as not to further alarm any civilians who were brought in for questioning. The lower levels were much more intimidating on the surface, but knowing what he did about the organization, these hallways never failed to unnerve Steve. He always felt like he was being watched.

And, judging by the little cameras he could spot hidden around the ceilings, that feeling was probably justified.

Another corner was turned and they entered a long stretch of hallway. Coulson continued to the fourth door down, marked inconspicuously **51-4.**

After a quick glance to make sure all were accounted for, Coulson put in some kind of password in the keypad by the door and opened it, gesturing the Avengers inside.

The area was the size of a large bedroom, with dark tones and soundproofed walls. The left wall had a series of monitors, cameras, and other equipment that Steve couldn’t identify, and three techs were sitting on stools monitoring them. They hardly glance up when the five entered. .To the right was an enormous window – probably one-sided – that showed into another brightly lit white room.

Looking through the one-way mirror, Steve felt his breath catch in his throat.

Seated – chained, the Avenger noted, taking in the handcuffs – to a metal table in the middle of the room, was Tony.

He wasn’t wearing the suit he’d been in earlier, but instead what looked like soft white sweats and a gray t-shirt. Steve couldn’t see his face as he has slumped against the table, but the soldier would’ve recognized his disorderly mop of hair just about anywhere. His head was facing down, pillowed against arms that were covered in spots by fresh bandages. It seemed someone had decided to take him to medical after all. He wore no shoes.

Steve absently wondered if he was cold in the sterile room of SHIELD.

Steve moved by rote to the middle of the window and crossed his arms over his chest, legs falling into parade rest. Clint joined his side, jaw clenched tighter than Steve would have thought possibly for the usually jovial archer, but Natasha and Bruce both stood further back, closer to the techs.

“I have a debrief to get to,” Coulson informed, but Steve didn’t turn to face the agent. “Remember what I said about keeping yourselves out of high-stress situations.”

“With all do respect, _agent_ ,” Clint spit, words doused with ire and sarcasm, “at this point, I think there’s nothing to do about _high-stress._ ”

Still not having turned around, Steve only heard the click of the door when Coulson left.

“Coulson is right,” Steve said softly, looking first at Clint until the agent reluctantly met his glance, then at Natasha who nodded, and finally at Bruce. “If you need to leave, leave. And even if that is all of us, there will be a video of this as well as a transcript. This is a personal situation, and we have no responsibility to be here if we find it perturbing.” Steve spoke calmly and truthfully, like a concerned friend rather than a leader.

“Make sure you follow your own advice, Captain,” Natasha intoned. Steve met her eyes in agreement, before looking back towards the interrogation room.

A minute later, the door to the other room opens, and the four Avengers quiet even there breathing.

The agent is a familiar face to Steve, though he couldn’t place her name.

“She’s good at this,” Clint tells Steve quietly, but with how hard he’s gripping the ledge of the mirror, that doesn’t seem to be a positive observation.

She crosses the room in a smooth stride, posture perfect and upper body level as she walks, before gracefully sinking into the chair on the opposite side of Tony. He hadn't lifted his head up when the door opened, and he has yet to make any acknowledgment of the agent.

She studies him for a second, looking him up and down in a way that irrationally makes Steve a little angry. Tony should not be someone for agents to assess.

“Are you Iron Man?” the agent asks, folding her hands on the table in front of her and cutting right to the chase.

Tony doesn’t look up. “Why don’t I get a lawyer?” he asks. “SHIELD works for the government-”

“SHIELD is funded by the government, but we work on our own laws,” the agent interrupts smoothly. “You will answer our questions. Are you Iron Man?”

 “You guys bitching about vigilantes – you just fucking described what that is,” Tony grunted.

“Are you Iron Man?” the agent persisted.

“You guys are annoying,” Tony grumbled. “Seriously? You pull me out of the suit and you still feel the need to ask? This is just wasting time.”

“Is that your admission to be Iron Man?” asked the agent.

“If that’s how you wanna take it, sweetheart,” Tony says, face still buried in his folded arms.

The agent nodded and leaned back. Finally, she flips open the file sitting on the table before her. “Tony Stanley,” she reads. “Born in Arkansas to Obi Stanley and an unidentified mother.” She glanced up. “That’s a bit suspicious,” she says. “Rarely is the mother unidentified and the father known. You wouldn’t happen to know who she is, would you?”

“Not a clue,” Tony grumbles. “Wish I did.”

The agent stares at the top of his head for a second before nodding. “Alright. Moved to Oklahoma when you were four, immediately started accelerated schooling and you finished high school by the time you were thirteen. Between the ages of four and thirteen, there were twelve domestic disturbance calls made to the local police and seven hospital visits, but no investigation was ever staged.” She pauses, clearly waiting for an answer from Tony.

Tony shifts his shoulders. “My father was an ass,” he says after a moment. Steve hears Clint breathe in sharply. “And he knew how to get the police of his trail.”

Bruce swiftly leaves the room, and after a hesitant moment, Natasha follows him. Clint remains, though, white-knuckling his arms and gritting his teeth.

“He abused you?” asks the agent emotionlessly, and when Tony gives no response, she nods to herself. “That’s fairly common in vigilantes, actually. Gives you some sense of injustice in the world that needs to be fixed, in whatever way you see fit.”

“I’m just trying to lend a helping hand, agent,” Tony says, lifting up his head slightly, just enough to grin roguishly at the agent. Steve feels his heart clench at the familiar smile.

The agent doesn’t react. “After four years at MIT you graduated summa cum laude, and then you were hired by Stark Industries.” Tony drops his head back to the table and nods. “After quickly climbing up the ropes at SI, you made the personal acquaintance, and later friendship of Virginia Stark, correct?” Tony doesn’t react.

The agent closes Tony’s file and leans forward. “You should know that we have brought Ms. Stark in for questioning,” she says. Steve sees Tony’s right-hand twitch, but other than that he gives no form of reaction to the statement. “Ms. Stark has told us something very interesting,” the agent goes on, seemingly calm, but Steve senses something almost like smugness under the tone. “She has informed us that she coerced you, under threat of losing your job, to build the Iron Man suit and then to command it, so that at some point in the near future she can reveal the SI was the funder of the superhero. If this is true, of course, you will be cleared of all charges and set free.”

Tony jerks up, finally sitting up straight in his chair and practically snarls at his interrogator. “You’re lying,” he growls. Steve watches solemnly but Clint turns his head to the side. It must be awful for the archer, finally being on the other side of SHIELD’s infamously manipulative interrogations, many of which he’s conducted himself.

The agent leans back, clearly appeased by the reaction. “Play the video footage,” she says, and the other tech agents standing behind Steve and Clint immediately pull up a video onto the screen behind the agent, in full view of Tony. He watches with wide eyes and Steve feels sick at the emotion he sees in them.

“ _Tony Stanley was an unwilling participant in the events and actions that occurred surrounding the superhero known as Iron Man_ ,” states an ever calm and collected Pepper Stark from the camera, hands folded in front of her professionally despite the cuffs on her wrists. “ _I had the idea to use him as a promotion stunt, and threatened him that if he did not go along with my plan, I would dismiss him and make sure none of my competitors would rehire him_.”

“She’s lying,” Steve says softly, eyes fixed on Pepper’s steel blue eyes. “Tony adores her.”

“Of course she’s lying,” Clint snaps, just as Natasha walks back in the room. “They’re goading Tony into a confession.”

“Bruce went back to the Tower,” Natasha informs them, just as Tony starts speaking.

“She’s lying,” he says, unknowingly echoing Steve’s words. “Pepper would _never_ do something like that.”

“Mr. Stanley, we have enough evidence to put Ms. Stark away for a long time,” the agent says passionlessly. “And unless you know something we don’t, that’s what will happen.”

Tony stares at the agent for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. “Pepper didn’t do any of that,” he said, voice cold as iron. “And SHIELD is made up of lowlife, cruel, morons.” He looked down and fisted his hands before letting out a hiss of breath through clenched teeth. “Virginia did not coerce me into being Iron Man,” he started, lowering his head as if in shame. “Following a PR conference soon after I was promoted to head of R&D at SI, I was abducted by a homegrown terrorist group that wanted to me to make weapons. They were convinced that SI was still building the weapons that Howard Stark used to develop, only in secret.” Tony took a shuddering breath. “They – well… they had me for three weeks before I managed to escape after building the original model of Iron Man’s repulsor technology.”

“Then what happened?” the agent asked when Tony paused.

Tony side glared at her. “I decided that it was my responsibility to the world to do my part to try and stop people like them,” he said. “They were… no longer a threat, but there were others out there like them, and I had the power to do something to stop them.”

The agent hummed. “And what was Ms. Stark’s role in this?” she asked, leaning back in her seat.

“Nothing,” Tony snapped, glaring at the agent. “She had nothing to do with Iron Man. I used my own paycheck to build the suit, and I have all the equipment necessary to build it in my apartment.”

The agent raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked. “Because we have your monthly bills, starting from the year Iron Man became active. Not only do your purchases come near what would be required to be the suits, but it seems that the majority of your earnings are distributed amongst charities and donations, enough that there wouldn’t be the amount needed to be left over to pay for the suit.”

Tony’s groan of annoyance was overlaid with Clint quietly asking, “How much does he make?”

“Six digits,” Steve replied, just as softly. He had had no idea that Tony gave away that much money.

“I hate this,” Clint grumbled, just as Tony began speaking again.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you-,” he started, only to be cut off by the agent.

“Why don’t we start with the truth, Mr. Stanley?” she suggested calmly.

Tony leveled a full glare at the agent, his knuckles white with the force that he was fisting them. Steve wondered if he’d ever seen Tony this angry.

It was a long moment before Tony spoke again, and just before he did he seemed to deflate. “It was my design, my project, my brainpower, my flight, my fight, and my idea,” he said, lowering his eyes to the table as if he felt shame that he was making this admittance. “Pepper – she gave me money to fund a non-SI project. I never expressly told her what that project was or where the money was going, but she funded me.”

“And she knew you were Iron Man?” asked the agent, still straight-faced despite her victory.

“Virginia Stark is not a stupid woman,” was Tony’s response, and then fell silent.

The agent looked at the top of Tony’s head for nearly a full minute and all of the Avengers were as quiet as the people they observed. Finally, she nodded and pushed her chair back.

“I will return soon, Mr. Stanley, but for now, please try to relax,” she said as she departed the room.

Tony didn’t even make a snide comment about bad room service. If Steve had needed confirmation that something in Tony’s head was wrong, that would’ve been it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next: monday


	18. Chapter 18

“It has been confirmed that Peter Parker was aware of Iron Man’s secret identity as Tony Stanley and willfully withheld that information,” Coulson announces stepping into the room, a mustard yellow file held carefully under his arm. Steve turns to face him, but Clint continues looking into the interrogation room, at the still Tony.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Steve asks quietly, eyes flicking to Natasha.

Phil sighs and rubs his brow. “He lied to a government organization,” he says, tone clearly peeved. “But at this point, we’re not sure. He’s being held, not quite as a prisoner, but certainly detained. He’s claiming his Miranda Rights, as he never technically claimed that Tony Stanley specifically was not Iron Man, nor did he ever say he didn’t know Iron Man.”

“But he did say he didn’t know the secret identity?” asks Steve, eyes flicking to Tony.

“He did,” Coulson says tiredly. “But then we get onto shaky grounds and what kind of punishment, if any, that constitutes. In all actuality, it will likely boil down to what else we find about Mr. Stanley,” he explains. “If he has been taking actions against the public good then Parker will probably be considered an accomplice. If Mr. Stanley has truly broken no laws outside of vigilantism… it could go so far as allowing Parker to walk with no repercussions.”

Steve nodded, satisfied enough with the answer, and turned back to the one-way mirror to watch Tony.

Steve has seen Tony after nightmares, when he wakes up with a gasp, sweating and panting but not screaming, never screaming because somewhere along the line he’d been taught that making noise would only lead to more pain. Steve has Tony when he’d relapsed and was terrified that he’d lost one of the very few personal connections he’s managed to make in the last several years. Steve has seen Tony throw his fists in the air and whoop with joy when he managed to vault over the last obstacle preventing him from the completion of a project. And, though unknown to Steve at the time, he has seen Tony soar through the sky in a suit of iron he made for himself and heard him laugh with the sheer exhilaration of being alive.

Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tony look as defeated as he does now.

He hears the door burst open and he’s turning, hand automatically reaching for a holster that isn't there for a gun that he removed before coming to watch the interrogation. “Comrades!” Thor booms, barreling into the room. “We must make haste! The doctors of Anthony have proclaimed the discovery something of vital importance!”

Coulson glances sharply up from where he was staring at his phone, before glancing down at it again. “And they sent you?” he asked skeptically, shoving the device into his pocket and striding for the exit of the room, the Avengers following close on his heels.

“I volunteered!” Thor corrected, stepping out into the hallway to make room for the others to go through the doorway. “It is my duty to my team to inform them when new information arises.”

Steve, the last in the line, briefly glanced back into the room. Before he could angle his head to get one last look at Tony, though, the door swung shut.

+++

Steve follows Thor and Coulson through the carrier, underground hallways of SHIELD and back into the ones he’s more familiar with, with fluorescent lighting and a soft gray color scheme. It doesn’t exactly put Steve at ease, but he’s certainly glad not to be in the interrogation rooms anymore.

They move through the building towards the science wing, and Steve’s hackles rise a bit more. He’s never been comfortable in labs like this, never sure exactly how things will play out, not since a dingy basement in the 1940’s changed his life forever. He likes labs like Tony’s – messy and ridiculous, with things strewn and a veritable mountain of health hazards, yet still with breathtakingly impressive designs and inventions covering every surface. He likes that, not SHIELD’s linoleum and sharp corners.

Phil and Thor lead the way, Clint hanging just behind the agent’s shoulder, and Steve mirroring him behind Thor. Natasha brought up the rear.

They finally rounded a corner into a large room filled with screens and desks and only two scientists in all the space, who were huddled close together before the only lit monitor. It was flashing images that probably contained more information in a single slide than most books had in their entirety.

“Avengers, meet Drs. Greer and Cohen,” Coulson said, both introducing them and alerting the scientists to the doctors. “They’re two of SHIELD’s highest clearance level workers and have been trusted to work on this case,” he said, with a heavy glance in Steve’s direction. Steve nodded a thank you; despite not knowing where he and Tony stood at all anymore, he didn’t really want any of the younger’s secrets being spread like wildfire across SHIELD’s nosy personnel.

The women, a little older than the man with soft dark brown curls, jumped up from her chair, eyes wide in the way that was fairly typical when most people met them. Steve was used to the awe and hero-worship some people possessed for them, but the discomfort hadn't faded. “I’m Dr. Greer,” the woman said, sticking her hand out and then pulling it back before Steve could even make a move to shake it. “It’s an - it’s great to meet you,” she stuttered lightly, and Steve almost smirked when he saw the woman’s eyes drift to Natasha, skim down the (skintight) leather suit, and then snap up to meet Coulson’s with a slight blush on her cheeks. “How can we help?” she asked the senior agent eagerly.

“Thor informed us that something had come up,” he said, the amusement in his face only readable to those who knew him well.

“We do,” agreed the second one, Dr. Cohen Steve guess, with a sigh, standing up and gesturing to the image that the screen had stopped on, a scan of a human body. “This is one of the scans we were able to take in a brief encounter with the subject before he was moved to the interrogation rooms,” he said, sounding just a bit peeved. The image was a human body covered in colors, some vibrant, other faded, and quite a few overlapped with each other in no pattern that Steve was able to recognize.

“We’ve found several concerning things through our observation,” Dr. Greer piped up, moving towards the board, seeming to have recaptured her professionalism.

“Some of them more severe than other,” Dr. Cohen intoned greatly.

“Begin,” Coulson said dismissively, moving farther into the room, the so far silent Avengers following behind on his heals.

Dr. Cohen seemed a little ruffled by the bluntness of Phil’s words, but continued anyway. “We’ll start with this scan, then,” he said, gesturing to the screen. “We discovered a few… expected things when we scanned for inorganic materials and toxins in the body, and then muscle and bone structures.” Steve had the weirdest sensation, almost guilt, as though he was invading Tony’s privacy. He tried to shake it off, but the unease remained.

“Where were looking to see if Iron Man was enhanced in any way, but we found something else,” Dr. Greer said, moving to stand next to her colleague and leaning forward, eyes fixed on the image of the scans they had taken. “It’s not a chemical we’re familiar with,” Dr. Greer said, drumming her fingers on the table as she studied the table in front of her. “It seems to be some kind of metal alloy, concentrated here,” she said, gesturing to the diagram that showed the toxin readings of Tony’s body, around the chest. Pointed out, Steve could easily see the wavy circle between the pectoral muscle that was made up of blues and purples, where most of the rest of the image showed red.

“We’ve gotten new samples and we’re already running them through the machines, and Doctor Banner had agreed to work with our experts to see if they can riddle it out,” Dr. Cohen, said. “But there’s more.”

“Basically, the chart shows normal, organic materials as red. Metals and alloys are blue, green is plastics, and yellow is chemicals not found in the human body.” Dr. Greer pointed up to Tony’s head. “It’s hard to see, but our machines were just able to pick up very, _very_ old and faint chemical residue in the head, around a dozen years old. Going off of that, we’ve been able to identify what looks like some form of – brain surgery.”

“Though I’d hazard to call it that,” Dr. Cohen grumbled. “From scarring,” he continued when Steve and the others turned to him questioningly, “we can determine exactly what was done to the cells in the brain, and I would say it amounted more to ripping through scraps and sewing them back together than any surgery.”

Slowly, he blinked. Tony had had rudimentary brain surgery conducted on him? Some twelve years ago, when he was a child? Steve couldn’t begin to wrap his head around that.

He swallowed hard, before making himself ask, “And what effect does that play on his, uh, cognitive functions?”

Sighing, Dr. Cohen shrugged. “Not much, I don’t think,” he said hesitantly. “Without further testing, we can't really answer that.”

“But if you were to guess?” Natasha pushed.

“Early on memory retention,” the first doctor intoned, interrupting Dr. Cohen who looked like he was going to say something about science and the proper way it should be conducted. “Despite it being – shoddily done, most of the areas were indeed fixed to previous standards. But the memory centers of the brain were targeted, and it looks like that was done purposefully.”

“What does that mean?” asked Clint, clearly trying to remain calm. “Tony’s never had any problems with remembering stuff – not that I’ve noticed.”

The doctor’s lips twitched into a frown. “No, it wouldn’t have that effect,” she said. “But it seems like individualized early memory retentions centers were the focus of this – operation.”

“Meaning?” asked Steve tiredly, rubbing his temples.

The SHIELD doctors exchanged a glance before Dr. Cohen said, “It’s a form of retrograde amnesia, not anterograde. That means he doesn’t suffer from short-term memory loss, but rather can't remember past events. He wouldn’t remember the parts of childhood that were hit when whoever did this to him messed with.” Noticing the slightly lost looks on the others in the room, he continued. “Okay so-” Using his fingers, he traced a circle on the screen after swiping away the charts, and then split the circle it in three parts. “This half,” he said, gesturing to the bottom, “is new memories, memories made after whenever the – operation was conducted. These parts were events that happened prior to it. Okay?”

Steve and the others nodded. Clint and Thor seemed just as lost as he did, but Natasha and Coulson both looked like they at least partially understood. And they looked like that understanding left a bad taste in their mouths. All Steve was getting was that some kind of barbaric surgery had been performed on Tony – which was enough to learn in one day, Steve thought – and that it had some effect on his memories.

“During the surgery, the left half of memories is the only section that it targeted,” Dr. Cohen explains, wiping away that part and leaving the diagram looking like some deformed Pac-Man. “His ability to make new memories is unhindered, and some of his original memories remain.”

“So he doesn’t remember who did the surgery,” Clint said in sudden realization. Steve felt his chest go cold.

“Possibly doesn’t remember that it even happened,” the doctor agreed solemnly. “Or why,” he tacked on, glancing at Coulson.

“When were the surgeries performed?” the agent asked, eyes hard. “Your best estimate,” he added when the two hesitated.

Dr. Greer rubbed her temples. “From regrowth,” she started, then glanced at some printed sheets of paper on the desk in front of her. “Well, the earliest seems to be about seventeen years ago, when the subject was approximately three or four, and the latest was a few years later, around eight.” She shrugged helplessly. “It gets complicated because at that stage in life brain development is incredibly high, but if I were to give my most accurate guess, they happened sporadically between the ages of three at the earliest and nine at the latest.”

Steve felt like he had asthma again all of a sudden like something was preventing him from breathing. This was – this was _Tony,_ his Tony, and even if it wasn’t, this was hardcore and rudimentary experimentation on a _child_. Steve felt like he might be sick, no matter that the serum made it impossible for him to be ill.

“Can you tell how many operations were performed?” asked Coulson after a silent moment.

Both doctors looked lost. “No more than ten,” Greer finally said after looking over her papers once more. “Probably closer to seven. About once or twice a year.”

Steve finally turns away from the boards and graphs and covers the lower half of his face with his hand. He doesn’t want to think about this. Doesn’t want to think about any kid forced to go through this – whatever it was. It’s not fair, and though Steve had never suffered under the delusion that life was, this wasn’t something that he could even begin to comprehend.

“Is there anything else?” he asked gruffly.

“Not right now,” answered Cohen promptly. “The DNA check is still running, and we’re still trying to figure out the metal residue in his chest but. This is all we have for now.”

Steve nodded absently, before turning and meeting Natasha’s eyes. “I need a breather,” he said, and she nodded slightly. With that, Steve strode from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next: friday


	19. Chapter 19

Steve had disappeared from SHIELD Medical to the underground hanger where his bike was being kept. Technically, he wasn’t allowed to drive it or even leave the premises until Tony was released, but the bike gave him a weird sort of comfort. he knew, if he needed, it would carry him across the country. He prayed he didn’t need it, though.

"Steve.”

After living with Natasha since the Battle of New York, he no longer jumped when she materialized out of a shadow to stand out his elbow, but Steve’s head did jerk up in surprise. Only then did he notice the wetness in them. He wondered if the darkness hid the look or if the little light there was just made them all the more reflective.

Natasha took a step closer to him, keeping her eyes on his, and put a hand on his shoulder. She rarely ever partook in physical contact outside of the Tower, much less in a place like SHIELD while they were both still in full uniform, so even the small gesture had meaning that Steve understood. He smiled weakly at the Black Widow.

“He’s still Tony, you realize,” she said after a solemn moment. “I’ve… been thinking about everything, and I’ve come to that conclusion. If anything, he’s more of the man you love than he ever was before.”

Steve blinked in surprise. If Natasha rarely initiated touch, then she never started conversations about feelings.

“From the start,” she began again, slower this time, her eyes drifting from Steve’s to a spot on the wall, “from the first night, I was cruel to him – to Tony – because he was encroaching on the small team that I had built for myself after a long time of being alone.” She didn’t say ‘family’ but Steve heard it in her tone anyway. “If I had successfully chased him away that night, or if – if we hadn't found him in time, our family would be missing a member.” She paused and Steve tried to catch her gaze again. “Do not… give yourself a chance to fully ruin what I almost did that night,” she finally said, words carefully chosen. “Tony gave us a reset button. And I think… maybe we should give him one too.”

They go silent for a long time. The echoing basement seems to hold its breath like a football stadium might the second before the tiebreaker goal will be scored or lost.

“Coulson is going to ask Tony about what they’ve learned,” Natasha breaks the silence. “The Avengers have been removed from this investigation until further pending. You can go home if you want. But… our access hasn’t been restricted.” Natasha’s dark eyes are fixed on his, and they don’t give him any answers, just a choice. “You can watch. Maybe get an explanation for all of this. Or,” another pause before she delivers the second option, “you can go home. And if you do, then, as Tony’s friend – even if at times it seems like I haven't been - I’m going to ask you to leave him alone.”

Steve is the one to turn away this time, his knuckles going white with his grip on the railing.

And then, finally, he lets go.

“Come on, then,” Natasha says, and Steve thinks she sounds proud.

+++

It seemed that the staff of SHIELD was feeling sympathetic towards Tony now. It’s the same interrogation room, but it’s been redone in subtle yet powerful ways. Instead of bright fluorescent lights with dark shadowy corners, the entire room has a soft peachy light filling the space. Tony’s wrists are no longer chained to the table either, but rather sitting in a pair of simple handcuffs in his lap. Even his chair seems to have been replaced.

Steve watches from behind the one-way mirror, looking in at Tony who seems to be studying his hands. He’s either thinking of a way to break out of the cuffs or contemplating his life choices. It was often hard to tell with Tony.

Clint stands next to Steve at the window with Natasha and Thor behind them, and though the animosity between them is all gone he can tell the archer feels uneasy.

The four watch as Coulson enters the room, his light gray suit not buttoned all the way up and his tie just a tad more loose than normal.

Tony looked up and Steve felt an odd sense of overwhelming relief at the anger in his eyes, to the extent that his muscles actually relaxed. It was just… Steve didn’t ever want to see Tony look _defeated_ again. Hatred was better than that.

“Oh so I get it,” Tony said, words smothered in sarcasm as he rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, tipping the two front legs off the ground. “So you’re the good cop – agent, whatever, and I’m supposed to feel so comfortable under your softer touch so that I spill every secret Iron Man has and then _willingly_ hand over the suit.”

“Not at all,” Coulson said calmly, moving across the room and sitting in the seat across from Tony, before handing him the file in his hand. Tony looked at it, then Coulson, then back down, but didn’t take it from the agent. After a moment, Coulson laid it down on the table, and Tony instantly snatched it up, looking through the picture and files before freezing.

The chair made a dull thudding sound when Tony let it fall back to sit on the floor properly.

“We found some peculiarities when you were getting you medical check done,” Coulson says smoothly, filling the electric silence. “I’m here to ask you about your knowledge of their origins.”

Tony’s eyes remained locked on the paper, his usually tan skin as pale as though he’d seen a ghost. Steve felt his chest tighten and swallowed uncomfortably.

Coulson continued on unhindered. “There’s unidentified metal residue in your torso, and signs of rudimentary surgery performed on your brain, particularly on the memory retention center, dating back to when you were a child,” Coulson says, as though Tony doesn’t know, and Steve is sure he does. “We can figure out what exactly took place during these events on our own, but it would definitely go faster if you could give us any information you have.”

“Why do you want to know?” Tony asked softly, thumb tracing down one of the pages, though Steve can't see what it is. “Why do you care?”

Coulson is silent for a long time, long enough that Tony finally looks up at the agent. Only then, when he has Tony’s eyes on his, does Coulson answer with collected – and somehow compassionate – surety, “Because it’s our job to care.”

Tony keeps his gaze for a moment before he slowly sets down the file on the table and leans forward.

It’s another moment before he begins talking, and the Avengers all watch with baited breath.

“I’m missing big swashes of memory from my childhood,” he tells Coulson softly. “I always knew I was, but I never knew quite why? Some things stayed, enough that I knew I had lost time, but I couldn’t piece it together.”

“And when you left, you didn’t try to understand then? Use the new resources available to you to try and track down answers?” Coulson asks skeptically.

Tony shakes his head and looks up at Coulson. “When I left, I ran as far and fast as I could and I _never_ looked back,” he said fiercely, almost defensively. “It was over, I had escaped. I didn’t give a damn about the details anymore.”

Coulson appraises Tony for a moment before nodding. Tony’s head sags down as though in relief at the acceptance. “Can you tell us what you do remember?” Coulson asked, and Tony’s shoulders tighten again. “Mr. Stanley, in the interest of trusting relations as of right now, it is most likely that you will be released without any charges for Iron Man,” Coulson said when Tony was silent. Tony looks up at him. “I can tell you that this will not be your last communication with SHIELD and that your actions as a vigilante will be monitored under reasonable and negotiable conditions, but there is a good deal of staff who are currently working to make sure that the Iron Man suit remains your intellectual property,” the agent said. “Despite what you may think, SHIELD recognizes and appreciates the work you have done as Iron Man, and we truly do have the public’s safety in mind when we make the decisions we do. Granted,” Coulson started dryly, “those decisions aren’t always the best ones.”

Tony snorted in quiet agreement.

Coulson leaned forward, carefully folding his hands on the table. “I would like to reach out and offer a hand,” he started. “When myself or anyone else here asks you about your childhood and what you remember from it, it is not so that we can use that against you. You need to understand that,” he said gravely. “I don’t mean for this to be an interrogation. No one but my personal team and I will ever see or hear what you have to say if you decide you want it that way.” Tony was staring straight at Coulson now, eyes steely and untrusting. “I ask, not to harm you, but to save another,” Coulson said, meeting Tony’s hard gaze. “Someone hurt you. We would like to know why, and more importantly, who. We would like to stop them, if they are still active.”

Tony drummed his fingers on the table and met Coulson’s eyes with a calculating gaze. “And if I tell you I don’t remember anything?” he asked, words low.

“I’ll believe you,” returned Phil, leaning back in his chair. “Well, I might not believe you, but I will accept that as your response and you will be free to go.”

They simply stared at each other after that, and though Steve was separated from them by a wall of bulletproof glass, he could still practically feel the tension seeping from them. Everyone in the viewing booth held their breath as they waited for Tony’s response.

Finally, “I don’t remember who,” Tony murmured, glancing instinctively at the glass he knew people had to be behind. His words were hushed like he was telling a secret. Steve wondered if he’s ever said any of this out loud. He guessed that he hadn't.

“Anything you can tell us will help,” Coulson answered, also lowering his voice but keeping the tone firm.

Tony glanced back at him before looking at his hands. “I really don’t remember much,” he admitted, shaking his head a bit. “What’s there is… fuzzy. They tried very hard to get rid of it.”

“Anything,” Coulson repeated, and Tony took a deep breath.

“My father – Obi Stanley… he worked with them I guess. Knew them.” Tony shuddered. “I’ve always been a genius. I remember one day… Obi walked into my room and grabbed my arm and dragged me to his car. We drove for hours, and all he said was that we were ‘going to help his friends.’ I don’t even know if we were still in Oklahoma anymore.” Tony shook his head again. “After that… it’s fuzzy. But that’s always how it went. The drive on average took three hours and twelve minutes. We went there six times.”

“And where was there?” Coulson asked, body held completely still.

Tony shrugged. “It was – not that different from this place, really,” he said, glancing around. “Looked like an old warehouse or something on the outside. The inside was a big operation, but it was dingy and gross. Not well maintained. I can't remember anything else about what it looked like.”

“Alright,” Coulson started slowly. “Your time estimate is correct?”

“Yes,” Tony nodded assuredly. “As close as it could be. The route always took about the same amount of time, but I – I was usually in the trunk or unconscious. I never saw the path we took. I counted seconds.”

Steve wants to vomit. He has no idea how Coulson retains his impartial facial expression.

“Thank you,” the agent says simply. “What else?”

Tony’s eyes have zeroed in on his twiddling fingers. “I only started vaguely remembering more than that about a year into MIT,” he evaded. “And not much then. No continuous storyline.”

“What did you remember?” Coulson asks.

“People in uniforms,” Tony responds after a beat. “Black uniforms with masks over their faces. Doctors. Or, people in lab coats. I remember them only rarely speaking in English.”

Steve feels a chill run down his spine.

Coulson is probably thinking along the same lines as Steve, because his next question, in a more snappish tone than everything else he’s said, is, “What language did they speak?”

Tony blinks, looks surprised and maybe even upset at Coulson’s sudden change in tone. “German,” he says, confused, like he doesn’t know that he’s knocked the ground right out from under Steve’s feet.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny chapter

“Hydra is still active?” Clint demands, keeping his stride long enough to match Coulson and Hill’s. Steve stayed to the back of the pack, feeling disconnected in an odd way. This seemed like the cherry on top of the nightmare that his life had become recently. _Hydra._

“Based on the word of an amnesiac who we are currently holding _in custody_ ,” Hill snaps. “Even if he is telling the truth, there is more than one German organization that wears black.”

“And fucks with the brains’ of children in the attempt to build technologically advanced war machines?” Clint snorted. “Sure sounds like Hydra to me.”

“It would be their repertoire,” Natasha chimed in. “The chemicals the science department found in Stanley’s head could be part of a cocktail for brainwashing, or conditioning.”

"And we all know that’s what Hydra does best,” Clint agreed.

Steve grit his teeth and fought his way out of the fuzziness that was trying to take over his head. “Though I hate to say it, Hydra is endlessly resilient,” he managed to get out. “Even is the other Howling Commandos wiped out every base, there were still undercover agents and the families who were never found. Hydra might have kept going.”

“This is ridiculous to speculate on,” Hill said disbelievingly, turning a sharp corner. “Based on all accounts, Hydra was wiped from the face of the planet in the fifties.”

“And sometimes accounts are wrong,” Clint pointed out.

“Bruce will be able to tell more about the scans of Tony’s body than anyone else,” Natasha said calmly. “Perhaps we should wait for his expertise on this subject before continuing.”

“Still one step ahead of you, Agent Romanov,” said Coulson, directing the group into a lab, a different one from where they had been earlier. Bruce, looking like he hadn't slept in days looked up from where he had been examining several print-out of scans that looked similar to the ones Steve had been shown earlier. “Doctor Banner,” Coulson greeted.

“What have you found out?” Hill demanded, skipping the rest of the formalities in favor of answers, as she usually operated.

Bruce’s mouth twisted down. “It’s… bad news,” he said, standing slowly.

Clint through himself into one of the wheeled chairs. “Trust me, we can handle it,” he gritted out. “Lay it on us.”

Bruce nodded softly and picked up a paper covered in lines of type. “The printout of every chemical and compound that I was able to identify,” he told them. “And the patterns within their usage,” he picked up another sheet.

“And what have you garnered from them?” asked Hill, nervous and snappish.

Bruce slowly looked up. “Many of them are matches for compounds discovered or created by Hydra researches, according to our records,” he says, monotone. “Others follow the pattern of information gathering Hydra was attempting. Other were created by people who we know Hydra robbed.” He nods to himself slightly before meeting Steve’s eyes directly. “Eighty-four point five percent of the information can be relatively easily linked to Hydra,” he says. “Ninety-two can be linked with more complex measures.” Bruce swallowed hard. “I’d say that there is about a one in a ten-thousand percent chance that whoever – operated, experimented on Tony wasn’t a Hydra operative, branch, or sister organization, based on this information alone. Combined with the information we’ve gotten from Tony and further history records that have been processed, there is an overall ninety-six point seven probability that Hydra was active as recent as ten years ago.”

Steve stumbles over his own feet and is lucky enough to be saved from the embarrassment of literally falling on his own ass by Thor who catches him, but he just – he can't _think._ Months. Nearly a full _year_. He gave _everything_ to take Hydra down, and he wasn’t the only one. _Bucky_ had died trying to destroy them, and Steve had been able to take slight comfort in the fact they had succeeded but no – now, Hydra was still active, was still ruining Steve’s life and _hurting the people he loved_ seventy years in the future.

 _Cut off one head, two grow in its place_.

Steve had thought it was over-confidence and pride that had driven those words from the dying murdered of Dr. Erskine. He’d thought it was arrogance, and he hadn't believed him.

Steve felt a steely resolve form itself behind his eyes. He knew what he had to do. He couldn’t just hold Hydra back by cutting off one head at a time. No.

He’d have to burn it to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the second part of a planned three is drawing to a close. Only one/two more chapters left. Any guesses on how it's going to end?


	21. Chapter 21

Tony Stanley is released from SHIELD custody five hours after the end of the fight that finally captured the elusive Iron Man.

(Five hours. That’s it. It had felt like an entire _lifetime_ could have been lived in those few hours, and Steve knows because he’s had several.)

SHIELD is in an uproar with the news that Hydra is still active. And it is _still_ active, it didn’t miraculously die out a decade ago when their last record – Tony’s brain surgeries – dated it to. Some clever agent (and it’s definitely Phil, but he won’t admit) figured out that nearly five percent of SHIELD personnel are infiltrators after meticulously searching through hiring records and past accounts. Half of the recruitment team are thrown in holding cells, along with a few high-ups, reconnaissance agents, and even some of the techies. Steve feels sick. He knew some of these people. Even liked a few of them.

He feels like he might vomit when he considers all the damage that the plants have or were planning to do. According to decoded files, the plants had started appearing in very small numbers dating all the way back to the eighties, mostly as interns to pass along low-level information to the underground Hydra organization, and those numbers slowly built and raised in position.

Fury might very well work himself into an aneurysm, and Steve can clearly tell that Natasha – and a few others – are considering quitting their job at SHIELD for what they consider inaccuracy in the field. Natasha in particular. Since hers and Steve’s conversation she has hardly said a word, and Steve knows it’s because she believes she is emotionally compromised. She _is,_ truthfully, both of them are, to unacceptable levels. Their work that day alone showed that.

After the first team night, it had taken weeks for the rest of the team to fully win back the barest bit of trust from Tony, and twice as long for Natasha. She had admitted that her actions were atrocious, that she hadn't been thinking in the mindset of the agent she had attempted, but closer to an over-protective parent who would rip the balls off of some poor soul for even looking at their child. She had been searching for a flaw, any flaw, and when she found it she jumped like a starved wildcat.

Tony, though, by nature, was forgiving. The first time Natasha had been watching a documentary she had been watching  a rerun of _Bill Nye the Science Guy_ when Tony had entered the room, and then offered him a smoothie, the genius had decided to put the lingering feeling of unease to rest and forgave her. It hadn't taken longer for even Steve to move past her infractions. It had been the first time Natasha fell asleep at movie night, head pillowed on Tony’s shoulder, that Steve had finally been sure that Natasha was not setting up an act around Tony, and she’d truly invited him into their close-knit circle.

But all of that – everything that’s happened in the past months, hell everything that’s happened since he woke up from a seventy-year nap – it all seems so distant. It feels like he’s back to square one, just some punk from the slums of Brooklyn who up and decided that if he couldn’t go to war as he was, he’d volunteer himself and his life for a science program in the dodgy basement of a government organization who he’d never heard of before.

It feels like he hasn’t come too far from then really – Hydra just hurt someone he cared about, and for the first time, he has the chance to do something about it. So he will.

“I personally guarantee you,” seethes one of the techs Coulson was talking to, “every fucking Hydra rat in this building has been caught and will shortly be _drowned_.”

She young and feisty, but Steve can tell by the fire in her eyes that’s she’s smarter than a whip and he believes her. Coulson does too.

“Good work, agent,” he says, nodding. “You can return to your duties.”

She huffs and spins on her heel, storming out of the room, presumably to go kick someone’s ass. Steve would find the childish behavior of SHIELD’s topmost agents amusing if he wasn’t so high-strung right now either.

“What are we going to do?” Clint asks after a moment, falling into a chair and burying his face in his hands. Steve kind of wishes that the archer was looking up right now so he could catch the aborted motion Phil makes, his hand just beginning to reach out before snapping back to his side. Steve doesn’t know what to do – he feels like he should be helping them along, but he’s certainly proved that he has no right to give relationship advice.

“We work,” Coulson answered calmly. “We figure out the extent of Hydra’s damage to SHIELD and we fix it. We renew the hiring policies and begin training a new era of agents. And we stop relying on an assumption, re-sharpen are entirely capable abilities, and start over.” Phil takes a deep breath, and this time he does reach all the way to Clint, laying a heavy hand on the archer’s shoulder. “I can't say that SHIELD is completely good all the time, nor can I say that even all of our properly sanctioned missions are the most morally right, but we strive towards goodness, and the betterment and safety of the world by tackling organizations that are suppressive and power hungry. So,” he pauses and meets Steve’s eyes, “we take down Hydra.”

“Agreed,” they chorus, even meek Bruce, who looks visibly rattled by the day’s events.

“What’s our next move?” Steve asked Coulson, placing his hands on the desk and leaning forward, eager for a mission, instructions, anything.

Coulson looked at him apologetically and Steve knew what was going to come out of his mouth. “Next, I get my agents working on cracking down firewalls and interrogating our new prisoners, and when we learn something of importance, you will be called to assemble.” Coulson looked at Steve firmly. “Until then, Captain, get your team to the Tower, eat, rest, and prepare for what comes next. And take care of yourself to.”

Steve wants to argue – and he does, a little, because he’s always been stubborn as a mule – but in then end, he does leave, the others in tow. It’s hard, knowing that Hydra is still active – that they’re still hurting people, _innocent_ people all these years and trials later, after everything that’s happened. It’s hard to leave it, even though Steve knows the best people are still working tirelessly, and that he can do anything right now but be well rested and ready for the time when he will actually be helpful. He knows it logically, but the only reason he’s able to force himself to leave is because he can see the tired droop of Bruce’s shoulders, and how Thor’s usual smile is gone. He’s their Captain, and, above all else, his first duty is to them.

As Coulson had promised, there’s a non-conspicuous car big enough to hold all of them waiting when they get outside. Steve takes one look at it and makes his decision.

“You guys go back to the tower,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking down the street instead of meeting his teammate’s eyes. “I’m gonna catch a cab. I’ve got to… I need to see Tony.”

There’s no response for a moment, and then, all at once,

"Don’t break his heart.”

"Be wise in your endeavors.”

“Hurt him again and I’ll knock your teeth out, Rogers.”

“Good luck.”

Steve smiles slightly and finally looks at the other four people. He doesn’t know who said what (though he could make some guesses) but the words, jumbled as they are and all said at once, are what he needed to here.

"I’ll try my best to fix this,” he said, nodding firmly once, before waving away his team. “Get going. Rest up. Impromptu movie night, Captain’s orders. I don’t know when I’ll be back, though, so don’t wait up.”

Thor grins widely and bids Steve luck. Natasha follows him into the SHIELD issue vehicle with a soft smile that conveys her message of ‘be careful’ just as well as words would have. Bruce gives him a timid hug and a quiet command to make it up to Tony or face Hulk’s wrath, before ducking into the car after Steve’s startled laugh.

Then it’s just Steve and Clint, stood awkwardly on the cement outside of SHIELD’s New York base, people bustling around them, completely unaware of who they are and what they’ve done, the chill of the night air nipping at Steve’s collar.

Clint meets his eyes for a moment before raising one unimpressed eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest, clearly waiting for Steve to says something. Steve huffs out a chuckle at the completely deadpan look on the archer’s face before he sobers.

Steve, in what he knows Clint would call ‘pure forties fashion,’ sticks out his hand and offers it to the archer. “I mess up,” he says seriously. “I let the – idea of a perfect relationship get in the way of what I should have realized I already had, which was a boyfriend that I loved and who loved me.” Steve takes a deep breath and doesn’t pull his hand back even though Clint has made no move to take it. “Tony never betrayed us and he never would,” he said and Clint’s eyes got a bit bigger. “I never should have thought for a second that he would have. There’s – there is so much bad in the world, and I was stupid to think one of the purely good things it’s offered me was bad just because Tony has a few secrets. And I was a hypocrite to accuse him of lying when we were both doing the same thing.” Steve solemnly keeps his eyes on Clint’s. “I’m going to do my best to make it up to him,” he promises. “Starting now. Tonight.”

Clint looks at Steve closely, using all the tricks he’s learned from SHIELD and from everything else he’d been through to search for a lie. Steve knew he wouldn’t find any. “You better,” Clint says and ignores Steve’s hand in favor of lunging into a hug. “Fuck it up again and I’ll help Tony bury your body,” he said seriously as he pulled back, barely having given Steve enough time to hug him back.

Steve laughs again and claps Clint on the shoulder. “I’ll make sure to leave instructions for my funeral,” he says, and Clint finally smiles back.

“Good luck, Cap,” he says, ducking under Steve’s arm and yanking the car door open. “And tell Tony I’m sorry for everything that happened,” he adds after a moment.

“I will,” Steve promises solemnly, and Clint flashes a grateful grin at him, before hopping inside and slamming the door behind him.

Steve watches the car speed off down the street until he can't see it anymore. Instead of hailing a cab he turns on his heel and begins to walk. The six miles will give him the right amount of time he needs to think through everything he needs to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will (hopefully) be up by Sunday or Monday, but i realized that the first draft of it was shit, so I am currently rewriting it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of Part 2

Steve leans his forehead against the light blue plaster walls. His eyes are closed but he can still see the sources of the hallways fluorescent lighting through his lids. He’d taken the long route to the apartment, but it had only taken an hour and a half. He'd spent another thirty minutes just circling the block until one of the security guards of the building threatened to call the cops if Steve didn’t stop or show identification. Tony lived in an expensive building, and he wasn’t the only high-status person there. He had luckily given Steve a visitors pass to the building, so the guard hadn't thrown him in the gutter, just given him another warning and told him to leave or go inside to find see the girl he was so obviously pining after. Steve hadn't hesitated to correct him, told him firmly that he’d messed up his relationship with his boyfriend, and Steve took the moment of the guard’s shock to take his advice and go in.

So here he was, waiting in the hallway outside of Tony’s apartment like a dork, reenacting the scene that took place in almost every rom-com that Clint had made him watch.

Steve groans and begins to lightly bang his head against the wall, wondering when he got so pathetic. Maybe it was the dull thud of his head hitting the wall (or early onset brain damage) but he didn’t hear the sound of the door opening.

“Just knock already. I don’t have all night to wait for you.”

Steve jerks upright and snaps his eyes open, immediately looking for Tony. The twenty-year-old is leaning against the doorframe to his apartment, one eyebrow raised in a very unimpressed expression. When Steve meets his eyes he jerks his head back and steps into the apartment.

“Come on then,” he says, before turning on his heel and walking away, leaving the door open.

Hesitantly, Steve follows behind him. His eyes drift for a second towards the door he knows leads to Tony’s personal lab. He’s been in there before, but he wonders now if there are bits and pieces of the armor stored away, or maybe even hidden in plain sight. He does not follow through with his curiosity, schooling his eyes away from the door and following Tony down the hall after softly shutting the front door.

Tony heads towards his kitchen and immediately moves to his coffee machine. The room already smells like caffeine, and that coupled with the slight energy he can sense coming off of Tony, Steve is willing to bet he’s already had several cups tonight.

Steve stops at the entrance to the kitchen and watches as Tony flits around, setting the unnecessarily complicated machine to work and then pulling down cream and sugar and setting them on the kitchen island. Steve knows that Tony likes his coffee black, and Tony know that Steve only drinks coffee when it’s smothered in cream. It’s almost enough to make him smile, but he doesn’t.

“So I guess we have to talk now,” Tony says, turning his back on Steve and pulling down two mugs. “Because, you know – surprise! I’m Iron Man! And you’re Captain America, and all of your friends are the Avengers – not that any of that is a surprise, mind you, because really, could you be more obvious? You just happen to live with four super-buff secretive people who carry around guns and knives like everyone else carries around a cell phone. Not only that, but you actually told me you lived in SI. And nobody but Captain America could be as self-righteous and patriotic as you, Steve, let’s be real. But yeah, talking now. All that jazz. I lied to you, you lied to me, your friend shot me out of the sky, I blew up my suit, you let SHIELD take me in and interrogate me, run tests on me, invaded my privacy by looking at medical records – and don’t even pretend you didn’t, Rogers, I’d recognize that wounded puppy-dog look from a mile away – and then I was suddenly let go, and now you’re here, looking sad and dejected and Jesus Christ, would you at least sit down, you’re making me nervous!”

Steve is silent through the onslaught of words and then does pull out a stool to sit at the counter, as per Tony’s request. Tony is gasping a little, chest rising and falling a little too fast, and Steve meets his eyes, calm but sorrowful. He knows Tony isn't done speaking.

The young genius pours out two mugs of coffee and sets one in front of Steve, pushing the cream closer to the soldier out of habit as he slides onto a stool across from Steve. He clutches the warm ceramic mug between his hands like it’s a lifeline and sighs.

“Just – say something would you?”

Steve is quiet for a long moment, stares into the dark liquid before him, and then speaks. “I – I’m an asshole,” he starts off with, wincing. “I’m a hypocrite, and a liar, and a pretty terrible boyfriend. And… I’m so sorry. For – everything.”

It’s not enough and Tony’s returning silence seems to be confirmation of that, and Steve starts to wonder if he should just go when the younger man finally starts to speak. “That night, when I first met you all,” Tony said, listlessly tracing his finger in circles over the shiny black counter, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “It was so – You were a new era in my life, you know? Or at least part of it. And that night made me feel like even the best, most beautiful things in this new era were always going to be tainted by the past. So I figured I might as well blow it all and get drunk. Which was a bad choice.” He sighed and slowly stopped fidgeting. “I’ve been trying _so hard_ for these past couple of years to leave the bad things behind,” he said, and Steve felt his chest tighten. He couldn’t imagine how hard that would be, not only with the physical reminders on his body but also with everything happening now. “And I promised myself that night that I would never fall back on the things that I remembered being bad, or that made me miserable in the long run.”

Tony goes quiet for a minute, just stares into his coffee cup. Steve says nothing, let’s the other get his words together. He has no real right to speak now. H hasn't earned the right.

 By the time Tony finally meets his eyes, his coffee must have gone cold. “Steve, when I think about you, I think about betrayal, and terrible meetings, and feeling like once again the people around me were only pretending to care,” he said. Steve’s blue eyes fell to the floor, but still, he didn’t interrupt. “You’re bad memories, and a crutch I should leave behind.

“But god _damnit_ , I don’t want to.”

Steve’s vision jerked back up and he met Tony’s eyes. The wide brown orbs were shining, in some weird mix of mirth and anger and confusion and love, and they seemed to scream _This is it, you’re last chance, don’t fuck it up_.

“I love you, Steve _Rogers_ , and you’re the one terrible mistake that I don’t want to leave behind,” he declared.

Steve didn’t have time to blink before he had crossed the kitchen and was kissing Tony.

And hand pushed against his chest and Steve immediately backed up, flushing bright red with embarrassment and shame. Tony glared at him, but it wasn’t as harsh as Steve really deserved right then.

“No,” Tony said, raising a finger and actually wagging it at Steve, which made the super-soldier crack a small grin. “You’re not allowed to do that right now, got it? I’ll tell you when you’ve earned back the right.”

Steve nodded instantly. “Of course, Tony. I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” he said.

Tony gave him a small smirk and tilted his head. “Yeah, well, you’re going to have to start doing that if you ever want this to work out, okay?” he asked, and Steve could hear the plea in his voice, and it made his heart crack a bit.

“Anything you say,” he agreed. “I just – for everything that’s happened, I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to make it up to you.”

Tony gives him a hard look. “Steve, I’m not even saying that I’ll ever date you again,” he stresses. “I’m just… I at least need some closure, and if I want that I can't just shove you out of my life right now, so…. Yeah. Do your best. Grovel at my feet. Try to _earn_ my forgiveness, and then maybe… I don’t know.” Tony shrugs and smiles a bit. “After that, we’ll see what happens.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees softly, feeling a little breathless from the relief. “I wouldn’t ask anything more,” he assures, moves to take Tony’s hand but then stops himself and offers up a small smile. “And even if – if I can't earn your trust again… thank you, so much, for at least letting me try.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, nodding. He shakes his head a bit and picks up his coffee mug. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” he says.

“Oh,” Steve says. “I – um – I guess I’ll just-”

“Take the couch,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, Steve, didn’t you have press training? We can talk more in the morning, all right?”

Steve looks him in the eyes, and he sees a chance. “Okay,” he says, this time with a smile.

+++

Steve wakes up to the smell of pungent coffee. He jerks up, and for a second he doesn’t remember the room, for a millisecond even wondering how the hell Bucky got his hands on decent-smelling coffee when they’d barely made the months rent before he remembers. It’s Tony’s apartment, Tony’s couch. And Steve is here to grovel.

“Good morning, Captain,” Tony greets from the kitchen, raising one amused eyebrow at Steve. “By the way, the coffee is mine.”

Steve blinks and opens his mouth. He’s not sure what he meant to say, but he doesn’t end up saying it because at the moment his phone promptly rings. Steve blushes and fumbles it out of his pocket. “Sorry,” he says to Tony, who smirks, before picking up.

“HYDRA’s figured out that we’re cracking down on their rats, and they’ve sent out a fucking ghost-story of an agent to take us down,” Coulson spits out, and it’s the least sensible thing Steve has ever heard the man say. “He’s down in center city, tearing up streets and crashing civilian cars. He went after Fury first, but the Director got away. SHIELD agents are holding him back, and Natasha, Clint, and Thor are en route to take care of the civilians

“Where are you?” Coulson demands.

“Tony’s,” Steve says after a shocked moment, glancing at the other as he does. Tony is standing up now, fingers hovering over his watch like he’s waiting for some signal, eyes fixed intently on Steve’s.

There’s a long pause on the other end of the phone. “Bring him along,” Coulson finally says, and Steve’s eyes widen. “We need all the help we can get.”

Phil hangs up before Steve can respond – or try to talk the agent out of it. He looks up at Tony.

“What is it?” Tony demands, then changes stream, fingers tapping away at his watch. “What classification? Magic, aliens, robots, or shunned botanist? Is the city, country, or world in danger? Talk, Steve!”

Steve swallows against his dry throat. “The… the organization that had you… they’ve sent out one of their men to try and take down SHIELD.”

Tony freezes, fingers hovering and even his eyes have gone still – but only for a moment. Then he’s once again a flicker of movement. “Human enemy – super powered, I’d guess?” Steve nods dully. “Okay then, Mark 51. Pull on your spandex, Captain, we’ve got a baddy to fight.”

Flashing Steve a grin, Tony ducks out of the room and opens the door to his lab. Steve’s enhanced hearing picks up on the sounds of machinery whirring to life.

He swallows hard. Closes his eyes for a second and tries not to think about how it will be the same Iron Man he’s always had the pleasure of fighting alongside with, and it’s the same Tony he’s been in love with for forever. He melds them together as one in the same, and by the time he opens his eyes, he’s smiling too.

Steve has just finished fitting the cowl over his head when Iron Man, sans helmet for the first time ever, flies into the room. Steve turns to Tony and, upon seeing his grin, Tony breaks into a slightly maniacal grin.

“Let's go kick some ass,” Tony says, flying across the room and scooping Steve up from under his armpits. Before Steve can question the move, their blasting through the balcony doors and flying over the city.

Steve looks down in awe. It’s not the first time Iron Man has picked him up and flown him somewhere, but it is the first time he’s been flying with Tony’s laughter in his ears.

+++

“He goes by the codename ‘Winter Soldier,’” Natasha reports when he and Iron Man arrive at the scene. Tony drops Steve at one end of the bridge before taking off into the sky to get an arrival view. The aforementioned soldier is at the other end of the bridge, knocking his way through SHIELD personal and cars alike. “He’s the ghost story of spies, allegedly responsible for countless deaths, including most recently Maria and Howard Stark.”

“Let’s bring him in then,” Steve says, pulling the shield off his back and beginning to run across the bridge.

The Soldier knocks the last SHIELD agents aside and turns in Steve direction, wild hair flying in front of his face as he does so, eyes cold and vicious, the bottom half of his face concealed by a black muzzle. He sees Steve takes off towards him. They collide in the middle of the bridge, the Soldier’s first brought down with an astounding amount of force on the shield, emitting a loud clang that confuses Steve until Tony begins to talk.

“Completely metal arm,” he explains as Steve kicks out and tries to sweep the Soldier’s feet out from under him. The man meets him with a counter move, attempting to grab Steve’s side and slam him into the pavement. When Steve effectively dodges and swings the shield fluidly into the man’s flesh shoulder, he swears the soldier growls at him. “I’d love to see how that works. Do you think the wires connect directly to his nervous system, of can it read brainwaves of intention? What’s the power source? Steve, try not to damage it if you can manage.”

“I’ll do my best,” the Captain gasps, out of breath from a well-timed punch that did allow him a counter-kick that sent the Soldier back a few feet. “But it’s not quite my first priority.”

The Soldier definitely growls this time and jumps back onto his feet, barely managing to get steady before Steve is slinging the shield at him. He raises his arm just in time and it bounces off the metal, ricocheting back into Steve’s grip.

“Civilians are almost cleared from the area,” Natasha reports. “Try to keep it on the bridge for a few more minutes, Cap.”

“Roger,” he grits out through a grunt of pain when the Soldier lands a solid kick on his abdomen. He retaliates by dropkicking him in the chest.

Tony wolf-whistles. “Just like that, darlin’,” he drawls in a sloppy imitation of a Brooklyn accent, and Steve is distracted for a moment. It’s the same exact banter he’s used to Iron Man spouting out over the calms that it hadn't even been remotely thrown off course by Tony’s presence, even though this is the first fight where he’s _known_ it’s Tony. It’s bewildering to think none of them had figured this out before, that none of them had made the connection between the two. Maybe it was only obvious now that he had all the puzzle pieces, though.

Unfortunately, Steve’s revelation provides just the right amount of time for the Soldier to take a dive at him and knock them both off the edge of the bridge.

“ _Free-falling_ ,” Tony sings as he swoops down, catching Steve in a princess hold and letting the Soldier fall to the ground with a grown and the dull sound of metal on metal. The drop from the bridge to the road bellow was a full thirty feet, yet the Soldier jumps back up from the ground as though he’s simply fallen down, eyes already searching the sky for his target.

There’s something eerie about him, something stiff and mechanical and not quite alive, a feeling a machinery that Steve has never felt from Iron Man himself.

Tony drops him down on top of a bus and swoops away. “Guy blew up a few roads,” he informs Steve, “I gotta go airlift some civvies out. Holler if you need me.”

The soldier is already running towards him and Steve jumps off the bus, using his shield to break the impact, and their immediately at it again, fists colliding with forearms, metal hand clanging against the shield, legs trying to kick down their oponenets. Steve thinks they must look incredible – he’s never had an enemy that he had to use this much of his powers on, and their fighting is all fluidity and skifullness and strength. No one’s ever stood up to him this well, and Steve has to wonder what HYDRA did to make this possible.

An opening and Steve’s fist connects with the side of the man’s face, and he hears the buckle of the thick plastic muzzle snap. The mask of the attacker is ripped off and Steve feels his heart stop.

“Bucky?” he gasps out in the second of stillness after his face is revealed. Everyone freezes, including the man – _Bucky, it has to be Bucky, Steve’s known him for a century he couldn’t forget –_ for a moment and Steve begins to reach out, fingers twitching.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” he demands, hair flying in his face like his mother would never have allowed, eyes fierce and lacking that laid-back happiness that used to fill his eyes.

Steve feels his heart crack in two, and keeps reaching out even as Bucky finally takes the opportunity to grab a gun from a holster – and why hadn't he taken it out early? – and Steve finds himself on the other side of Bucky’s expertise sniper abilities in a way he should never have been.

There’s a clunk and the high whine of a repulsor blast loading up from right behind Steve, but he doesn’t look because – because _Bucky_ is somehow here, seventy years after he fell off that damn train.

“Okay buddy,” he hears Tony say, no longer bothering with whatever undoubtedly ridiculously advanced voice module that kept his identity a secret, “how ‘bout you put down the gun and we all go out for ice cream and talk this over like reasonable adults?”

Steve hears the whirring that means Tony’s lifted his facemask and he wants to yell at the younger for being so stupid but before he can Bucky’s face falls slack.

“Toshka?” he gasps and Steve turns to face Tony, who thankfully looks as confused as Steve feels.

“Who the hell is Toshka?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the plan is for me to start uploading again on the 25th (first day of Hannukah and Christmas) and i know that's a while, but it's going to be a much better ending if i work on it and really get it put together.
> 
> Also, I want you guys to *spam* the comments with absolutely everything you'd like to see. At this point, Stony is definitely not set in stone endgame, and with the entrance of Bucky a plethora of new ships have opened up. (Also, Bucky, who saw that coming right? ;)) But yeah, anything/everything you want to see before this story wraps up *please* tell me, because i'm writing this for the people who read it, and i don't want to disappoint. If you just want to read it for my intentions, stay tuned because i have a whole bunch of exciting stuff planned.
> 
> happy holiday season, everyone!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> get ready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Chanukah, merry christmas, happy pre-kwanza, happy all-the-other holidays, happy winter to those on the Northern hemisphere and happy summer to those on the southern!

_The Asset rarely had to think. Most of the time, he was given orders. Sit, stand, walk, find this target, shoot this car, kill that person. It was not hard. His hands knew how to hold a gun, how to run fast, how to punch and kick and fight. He always won._

_Every now and then there would be a mission where not everything has gone right. A target slipped through the cracks, or there was an unexpected person at the scene, and the Asset had to reevaluate before proceeding. If it was too complex he knew well enough to back off, return to the handlers and techs and wait to be sent out again. That was often the route the led to the least punishments, which meant it was the road he took most often._

_Besides, the tank left absolutely no thoughts for anything besides the cold, and it was where he spent most of his time._

_He’d been forced to think on his last mission. His arm had given out, rendering half the weapons he’d been assigned nearly useless, and instead of a clean kill shot he’d been forced to take the target out in hand-to-hand. It had, apparently, been the most accurate response in the situation, so his punishment had been only minimal._

_“New mission,” his handler barks, leafing through a file the Asset is not allowed to look at. “Three targets, two causalities, one objective.”_

_The Asset nods, standing in a stiff parade rest as the various agents begin strapping weapons to the leather uniform he’s been suited up in. He cannot agree or disagree with anything they tell him, but he must show respect and that he is listening. Not doing so will result in punishment._

_“You’re being sent out in two hours, and it should be done by one thirty AM, Eastern Standard Time,” Handler Kirilov tells the Asset, snapping the file shut. “Sources report that all three targets will be in the car, alone, but being headed and followed by an escort of around a dozen well-trained guards. You are to take out any of them necessary.”_

_The Asset nods to show his understanding even as several grenades and strapped tightly to his hips. “Preferred weapon is the Silent320,” Kirilov says just as the weapon is shoved firmly into his hand. The arm malfunctioning recently had put several missions into jeopardy and the Asset would have been surprised that he was being sent out again, but he knew better than to question. The weapon he’s been given is a gun, the most quite that they own, and can easily be used with only one hand._

_“Affirmed,” the Asset says and waits for more information._

_“Mission objective: bring in Howard Stark..”_

_+++_

_The car is inconspicuous, not meant to attract attention or show who was inside it, the windows tinted to black._

_The Asset is silent even as he shoots out the wheels and the car swerves before sliding off the road. If luck is on his side, then Maria Stark will die on impact and he can nab Howard quickly. If luck isn't, then neither will be unconscious and, worst case scenario, there will be a guard in the car as well. He is, of course, prepared for each case, but the Asset prefers missions with less collateral damage. There is less risk and clean up that way._

_The bullet is silent as it flies through the air, hitting the tire perfectly. He has a staged flat tire next to him, waiting to be switched out so it will look as if the car crashed from a loss of control on the wheels. The Asset does not need to worry about how the disappearance of Howard Stark will be explained._

_The car predictably crashes, the front denting as it crashes into a tree off the small road. The Asset swiftly jumps down from his concealed perch and strides forward. He wrenches the door open, locks notwithstanding the pressure of the metal arm. He needs to make sure Howard is knocked out and kill Maria if she is not already dead._

_The Asset freezes when he looks into the car. Before that even, as soon as the doors are opened and the sound-proofed environment inside is no longer blocked off. He’d assumed the high squealing his advanced hearing had picked up had been a malfunction in the broken engine._

_It’s not. It’s the high cry of a young child in distress._

_The Asset hears Kirilov curse in his ear through the comm. unit stored there, shouting angrily about bad Intel as he stares over the bodies of two unconscious – he can hear their heartbeats – bodyguards at the small boy strapped tightly to the backseat of the back, tears streaming down ruby-red cheeks as he sobs for help._

_“Damn,” he hears Kirilov growl. Then, “Grab the kid. Stick to the original extraction plan.”_

_The Asset continues to stare at the boy who is trying to undo the seatbelt and scramble away from him. He knows that he looks scary in the mask and with the metal arm, perhaps if he took it off-_

_“Soldier!” Kirilov’s snap sends The Asset’s mind out of wandering and he pulls his head of the car, muzzle still in place. He jumps back to work, quickly replacing the incriminating tire for the extra he’d brought. When that is done, he reaches into the back of the car and unbuckles the now screaming boy._

_“Please!” he wails. “Mommy! Daddy! Jarvis!”_

_“Make him shut up,” Kirilov growls into the Asset’s ear. “He’ll attract attention. Move to the rendezvous site.”_

_The Asset had been given training on many things, but he had no knowledge of comforting children. The boy was sobbing hysterically and trying unsuccessfully to climb out of the Asset’s tight grip. If he succeeded he would surely land on the ground and injure himself. The Asset would be punished heavily if his mission objective was damaged. He must not let him fall._

_+++_

_“You look like James Buchan – Buch – Bucky Barnes,” the boy whispers to him while the Assets waiting for the car that will bring him back to base. “He was a war hero, but I don’t think you’re a hero.”_

_The Asset says nothing, barely comprehending the meaning behind the boy’s words. His cheeks are crusted with the dry tracks of tears, but his eyes are clear and sharp._

_“What’s your name?” he asks. “My mom told me never to trust someone without a name, she said that if they hide that then they must be hiding something else too.”_

_The Asset says nothing, but a small part in the back of his head wonders if he ever had a name. He shakes the thought away._

_“You’re kidnapping me, aren’t you?” the boy asks, words suddenly hushed. “You aren’t the first. I won’t talk. And Daddy will come and get me.”_

_The Asset says nothing._

_“Most of the kidnappers hurt me,” the boy tells him, words shaky, and the Asset wonders if he will start crying again. “They squeeze me too tight or they knock me out.”_

_The Asset thinks this is wrong – he is, after all, only a small child – but he does not say so._

_“Did they kidnap you too?” the boy asks, words hardly audible. “You seem sad. Or… are you a robot? Your arm looks like a robot.”_

_The Asset does not answer, eyes fixed on the distance where he can see to small beams of light shining through the trees. His grip tightens on the boy instinctively._

_The Asset is overcome with the sudden urge to turn tail and run into the woods, the boy clutched safely in his grasp. He wants to get himself and this child as far away from Hydra as he possibly can._

_The desire is so strong that he actually takes two full steps backward before forcing himself to halt. He shakes his head, tries to get rid of the thoughts. It is not his prerogative what happens to the child, only that he is delivered into the arms of Hydra, as his mission instructs._

_The boy babbles quietly to the Asset but falls silent when the van approaches._

_Kirilov steps out, mouth twisted into a growl. He stalks forward and yanks the child from the Asset’s grip, hard enough that the boy cries out in distress._

_“Where is your father?” Kirilov demands. He shakes the boy when he doesn’t answer. “What!?”_

_The interrogation does not last long and the Asset is glad for it – he again had the peculiar urge to snatch the boy away and run. He does not have time for it. Words are spoken into Kirilov’s comm. and with another growl, he shoves the boy back into the Asset’s hold and instructs him to climb back into the van._

_The boy clutches onto the Asset and the Asset makes sure to hold him lightly for the several-hour-long drive. Neither of them speaks._

_The child is taken from him again, but this time the boy calls out to him in desperation, shouting pleas to the Asset for help. Metal and organic fingers twitch, but the Asset does not try to take the boy back._

_He does not fight it when he is pushed back into cryo, welcoming the cold nothingness for the first time._

_+++_

_When the Asset is taken out again, it seems only a few years have passed, judging by the wrinkles on Kirilov’s face._

_“Report to the chair,” Kirilov barks at him, even though the chair is barely five feet from the Asset in the room that he had been brought to._

_“Техническое обслуживание или протирание?“ the Asset asks, already moving, not fighting the command but needing to know if he will be wiped, or if they have finally found someone to fix the arm._

_“Maintenance,” Kirilov growls at him, the turns to one of the other faceless Hydra agents and barks, “Bring in the boy,” and then leaves the room._

_The Asset sits down, lying the metal arm to the small platform on the side of the chair, allowing best access to the mechanic._

_He is shocked when two Hydra agents return to the room, but instead of a doctor or scientist, between them, they drag a child._

_He jolts minutely when he recognizes the kid. He’d shot down this child’s car and delivered him to Hydra in place of the mission’s actual goal. He does not look like he’s aged._

_The guard carries the boy over and sets him down in the seat that mechanics usually sit in. “He is your new mechanic,” the guard barks. “You will sit still and let him work.”_

_“Я буду сидеть и позволить ему работать,” the Asset parrots in Russian._

_The guard nods and then turns to the boy. “Fix the arm,” he tells the child, who is crying silently, trying to scrub tears off his ruddy cheeks. When the boy does not respond immediately, the guard smacks his hands away and growls again, “Fix it or you will be punished.”_

_The boy pales and reaches over to the tray of tools set out for him, first picking up one that will open the maintenance panels on the arm. He begins to work._

_The guard watches for a few minutes but when neither the Asset nor the boy does something they are not supposed to, he slinks off to the back of the room with the second guard._

_The child continues his work on his arm for another minute before he quickly drops his tools and grabs the Asset’s metal fingers._

_“I don’t know who you are or where I am,” he confesses quietly. “Please, can you – can you tell me where I am?”_

_The Asset only blinks at him, confused by the sudden words._

_“Oh, wait! You spoke Russian before. Do you only speak Russian? My nanny taught me Russian,” the boy babbles quietly, scared, gripping tightly to the Asset’s lax hand. And then he says, in broken Russian, “My name is Antoshka in Russian.”_

_The Asset does not respond. The boy, Antoshka, says it again. “Меня зовут Антошка.” He says it again and the Asset realizes he is looking for confirmation of understanding, just as his handlers do._

_“Antoshka,” he repeats, and the boy beams up at him and squeezes his hand tighter._

_Very gently, careful not to crush any of the dozens of delicate bones in the child’s hand, the Asset squeezes back._

_+++_

_Antoshka is there for years._

_He never ages like the handlers and agents do, and whenever the Asset is taken to see him, he is shivering. He is being kept like the Asset is, to keep up maintenance of the Asset’s arm._

_He looks so small, fingertips and lips still blue, no advanced serum to keep him the slightest bit warm or at least help him recover quicker. But he always smiles at the Asset when he sees him, shaking little curls of lips hidden from the handlers with a downward tilt of his head._

_Antoshka talks less and less each time the Asset sees him. Sentences shorten to phrases and then to just singular whispered words on the very rare occasions they are left alone in the room, small hands carefully manipulating the complicated wirings of the machine attached to the Asset’s body._

_“Coordination,” Antoshka says to him one day, eyes downcast but fixed firmly on their task. “Recalibration,” he explains, still explaining, the only one who ever told him what was wrong. The Asset had noticed the lagging response time and how it had become more difficult to control the arm. Antoshka gives him words for what it is and what needs to be done to fix it._

_“James,” he murmurs another time, probably years later by the wrinkles surrounding his handler’s eyes and the slight buzz Antoshka has grown over his scarred scalp._

_The Asset startles and the familiarity of the word and when he looks, Antoshka is watching him carefully. The young boy slowly reaches forward and lays his hand over the Asset’s chest. “James,” he repeats studiously, and then says it again and again until the Asset finally realizes he is looking for confirmation, and nods, just slightly._

_Antoshka sighs in what seems like relief, the tension the Asset hadn't noticed draining from his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything after that. Neither of them do, not even when the Asset sees Antoshka purposefully avoiding finishing his work on the arm, even moving backward a few steps._

_The Asset understands the next day when he and his still malfunctioning arm are returned to the chair and Antoshka is next to him. The boy’s cheek is swollen and bruised, but he smiles when he sees the Asset. His fingers curl up with an unfamiliar emotion. He wants to hurt whoever gave Antoshka that bruise._

_Slowly, he un-fists his hands. There is nothing he can do about it._

_“You’re James,” Antoshka whispers to him quietly, then repeats, “James.”_

_He murmurs it a few more times under his breath and then stops, fingers stilling too. “Did you know?” he asks, words completely inaudible were it not for the serum._

_“Know what?” the Asset asks, voice rough from gross underuse._

_“You’re James,” Antoshka repeats. “I’m not the Mechanic, I’m An-Ant-Anoksa-”_

_“Toshka,” the Asset corrects softly, fingers moving to curl around the boy’s much smaller hand. “Antoshka.” He is surprised at both the words that he himself speaks as well as those of the boy's._

_“Toshka,” he repeats. “I’m Toshka and you’re James.”_

_It’s only then the Asset understands. It’s not an adjective that he’s forgotten over the years, or the gibberish the Antoshka has grown to mutter under his breath so that he won’t get into trouble by saying all of the things his genius mind comes up with out loud. He is not trying to define the Asset._

_He is giving him a name._

_“James,” he mumbles again, eyes wide with the heavy weight of the importance that the word carries. The identity that comes with it._

_In the back of his mind, he thinks of cold alleys and flushed cheeks, defiant blue eyes and demanding little sisters, and too cold winters and a nickname so that he wouldn’t just be another James._

_He doesn’t know what any of it means, but he does know that right now, he would rather be James that anything else._

_+++_

_Toshka has grown perhaps a year in the time since he was first brought to HYDRA, and most of that growth was without James’ presence. He was sent on some three missions, and when he woke up for the fourth, he once again greeted Toshka, eyes a little sadder, accent a little thicker, skin even paler. Life is not kind to those held in the palms of the organization, and James knows this now only because he has a life now. Because this boy gave him one._

_They take quiet comfort as he fixes the arm, intellect even further beyond his years than when he first came. It seems that the cryo-chambers that stopped his aging did not stop the development of his mind. They take comfort in the familiarity of faces that do not age decades between their forced freezes, and in skin to skin contact that for once does not only bring pain._

_At the end, when Toshka has fixed his arm, not a word spoken in the several hours and no attempts to sabotage his work so that their time together won’t end so soon, he begins to pull back. “Toshka,” James says insistently and grabs his hand gently, trying to push back a reminder to the boy of what was taken from him in the time he didn’t see him. Tries to give him what he was given. “You are Toshka,” James says, “and you are not theirs.”_

_He blinks back slowly, and then his eyes fill with water and he whispers, “James.”_


	24. Chapter 24

It all falls apart not too long – at least from his linear – after he gets a name.

Most days, he’s still the Asset. He still does missions, still kills for Hydra, still follows orders. But when Toshka is working maintenance on his arm, or showing him new weapons, he becomes James. He smiles softly, comfortingly at the small boy, he runs fingers made of flesh and metal through curly hair when the handlers aren’t looking, and back and forth they whisper assurances in the form of gifted names.

Tony doesn’t age, and the scars on his fingers don’t seem to be multiplying, so James assumes that they’re only taking him out of cryo when the Asset needs a mechanic.

It’s odd, and completely different, being self-aware in Hydra’s agency. Before… it was as if he was a walking gun – he could position himself, aim himself, and pull his own trigger, but he couldn’t do so without instructions. It was easy and unthinking.

Now, he still does what Hydra tells. If he doesn’t, they will kill him or at least wipe his memories, and then Toshka will be all alone and he will be hurt and scared, and James _will not_ leave him.

But it’s different now. When he gets into position, he hesitates sometimes, just for a millisecond, and wonders what his target’s name is or how he got it. He vaguely recalls being named James because of something Toshka said about how he looked like a war-hero of the same name. And James knows more than remembers that Toshka is the shortened version of Toshka’s, “Russian name,” though he doesn’t really know what that means.

He thinks about his targets, and when they’re dead, he wishes sometimes that they weren’t, or at least that it was his gun that did the dead.

On the few occasions that the target is a child… the Asset had cried, once, silent tears. The children hardly look anything like Toshka, but they are small like him and it proves at least that the Asset could kill the only thing in this world that was good.

James forces those thoughts, memories, emotions out of his head. Hydra can't know, and he doesn’t want Toshka to know. Maybe one day when… he doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know what exists outside of Hydra. Doesn’t have any idea of how they’d get there.

But he begins to think that he should figure that out.

It’s not… good, this routine they’ve fallen into. They have to be silent out of fear, and James only sees Toshka for about half of his consciousness, and he still goes on missions and Toshka still builds weapons – but it’s _worth it_ , James thinks, _worth it_ , all the badness for the small moment of joy when Toshka smiles at him and the fear in his eyes fades away because James is _safe_. It’s worth everything he’s been through when Toshka slips his hand into his absently mindedly, humming some lost tune from his lost life. It’s fucking _worth it_ when Toshka calls him James and James calls him Toshka, and they are alone and they are happy.

And it’s just that, James thinks, that causes his downfall. Of course, the universe would not allow a monster like him to be happy due to a child like Toshka.

It starts when a bald man bursts through the door of the maintenance room yelling bloody murder, followed by a gaggle of Hydra agents. The Asset has seen this man before, prowling halls and glaring or grinning at agents, both just as menacing. The only thing the Asset knows about him is that his name is Stane and that he’s important enough to Hydra that he’s allowed to treat the agents however he wants.

James slowly curls his metal fingers into a fist to resist the urge to clutch Toshka to his side. He is not safe near this man.

“That fucking bitch – figured out I was selling to some sand-niggers and told the authorities.” The bald man is fuming, pacing angrily. “I had to hightail it out of there. It’s in shambles, fuck, we’re lucky they don’t know about all this – fuck!”

Stane yells at Handler Sholter about a woman who did something, but James lets the words fade out. He meets Toshka’s eyes. They are hazel, wide and watery with fear because he _knows_ good things don’t come from anyone yelling. James wants to hug him. Wants to wrap him in his arms and run away until this place is so far behind it’s not even a speck on the horizon. That what Toshka deserves.

And just before James could reach up and wipe away the tear threatening to slip down Toshka’s cheek, the boy is literally ripped away from in front of him.

“Time to prove your worth, kid,” Stane spits at Toshka, who tries to pull away. The man just laughs cruelly. “Oh, I’ll train that out of you, don’t worry.

“Now listen up,” he shoves Toshka onto his own two feet, bending down to look the kid in his eyes. “You’re the most valuable chess piece this lousy excuse of an organization has, and you’re not going to fuck it up.” His smile slowly curled over his lips. “So we’re just going to have to sacrifice our queen.”

James lunged from his chair, managing to push Toshka away and land a solid punch to the man’s jaw before Sholter began yelling for more guards. James got another kick to the man’s stomach before he was being wrestled back into the chair and strapped down, knocking out two guards in the struggle.

“Well,” Stane says slowly, standing up straight and spitting blood onto the floor, looking at James with a gleam in his eyes. “You’ve been busy, haven't you?” he asked Toshka, who had tried to run only to be caught by one of the faceless guards. “You went and charmed the knight, didn’t you?” he asked, chuckling softly. “Got yourself a guard dog. My, my, you are clever. Maybe even more so than your father.”

Toshka began to cry, loud sobs as he wriggling in the unrelenting grip of the agent. James tried to rip his way out of the restraints and was rewarded with a firm punch to his jaw and a leather strap being pulled tightly across his forehead, immobilizing him completely. A gag is shoved into his mouth to quiet his yelling.

Stane looked amused. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he said looking back to Toshka. “I’m going to take you away from here, okay? Wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t you like that?”

There was practically slime dripping off the man, and when he reached out to touch Toshka, James growled, low in his throat, around the piece of dirty fabric in his mouth.

“You’re going to be my son, and if you’re good, you’ll be rewarding.” He cupped Toshka’s cheek, wet from his tears. “And if you're bad… well, I’m sure you know what happens then.”

James gets a fist in the stomach when he tries to wrench out of the grips holding him down.

“You get to start over, kid,” Stane continued. “Wouldn’t you like that? You don’t have to stay in this disgusting facility anymore. You’ll be my son. Of course,” he paused and turned to smile at James, almost like he knew the turmoil going on in the soldier’s brain, “you’ll need a name. How about Tony?”

Toshka finally snaps, replacing tears with screams.

“My name is Antoshka – it’s _Toshka_!” he screams and James tries uselessly wrestle his way out of the restraints again.

Stane growls in displeasure and picks up a knife from Toshka’s trap of tools. James’ struggling doubles, fear striking a match in his heart. “your fucking name is Tony,” Stane growls, advancing on Toshka. “And you’re going to be my fucking son and you’re never going to tell anyone differently, go it?”

“My name is Toshka-”

James watches as the man wrenches Toshka away from the agent and pins him flat to the table and he watches as Stane carves letters into the small boy’s arm, watches the blood drip slowly onto the floor. James hears Toshka’s screams and pleas, hears Stane’s grimy insistences upon obedience, hears the pitter of blood on the concrete. James smells copper and sweat and tears. James can practically taste Toshka’s fear in the air. James feels the bite of cuffs around his wrists as he struggles toward the singular thing in the world that has any meaning left to it.

When Stane stands back finally, Toshka has gone silent, but not unconscious. He falls to the floor, and through the blood, James can’t quite see what Stane has cut, put he’s sure it’s a pattern of some sort.

“Toshka,” James gasps out, finally spitting the gag from his mouth, “don’t forget, don’t forget who you are, don’t forget that I lo-”

A technician shoves James fully back against the chair and new restraints bind him to it, shoving another gag between his lips. James tries, tried so fucking hard to get out and get to Toshka, but then the electrodes are being attached and, and the _pain_ is unlike anything else but Toshka is – Toshka is – James….

+++

When the Asset wakes up, the room is full of Hydra agents, as well as a bald man who’s glaring at him angrily. At the man’s feet lies the crumpled form of an unconscious child, limbs flung out as though he’d collapsed only when he was no longer able to hold himself up. The Asset sees the bloody marks on the inner of the boy’s arm, and through cracked and drying blood he can read the word ‘ _TONY_.’

The Asset does not linger on the unconscious boy. He looks towards Sholter, for he is allowed to remember handlers in between wipes. “Mission?” he asks.

Sholter smirks.


	25. Chapter 25

Oklahoma was Hell on earth. Or at least, growing up in Oklahoma with Obi Stanley as his dad was hell. Tony know that there were other kids who loved the town, people who adored the never ending fields and planes and the skies that stretched across the world like a dome, nothing in its way. And yeah, those things were pretty cool, even Tony, the town’s biggest critic, had to admit. But it never felt… like home.

It was stupid, as stupid as all the YA novels he avoided like the plague. 'Home' was a psychological construct designed by people to define a state that didn’t actually exist. Houses and buildings, of course, did, but pretending like there was some looming Thing that made the difference between a house and a home was stupid.

Maybe it was like people said, though. Maybe it was family that made the home.

Tony always knew Obi was a bastard. He knew that he was an abused child, and a lot of the people in the town knew it too. But everyone Tony had ever met was scared to pieces by Obi.

He’d sidled into town one day with more money than anyone there had ever seen, a toddler in one arm, unconscious – “asleep,” Obi had surely protested, but no child slept like that – and no mother in sight. Tony knew that the town rumor mill claimed that Obi had killed Tony’s mother and used his inexplicable wealth to escape penalty. He kind of believed it as well.

Part of the reason he hated Oklahoma could also be contributed to his intelligence. It wasn’t that small towns naturally bred stupidity, but the fewer the people, the more likely that there would be no one that he matched up to. And it was true. The school – public, of course, cause no matter how rich Obi was no way was he spending a dime of it on education – gave up on trying to teach him anything new when he was six and unofficially let him out of class to have full run of the library when Obi refused to transfer him somewhere that could maybe help him.

Tony didn’t mind. The library was dark and comfortable, and almost nobody else ever went there. He spent seven years hiding there every spare moment, from the words of the countless bullies, from Obi’s fists, from the watching eyes of the townsfolk, from everything. It was a safe haven, right there, near dead center of the town. No one ever bothered Tony in the library.

Obi beat on him every chance he got. When his lotto tickets were bad he’d smack Tony around. When dinner wasn’t ready on time to the dot he’d take off his belt. When he saw or heard rumors of Tony’s eyes lingering too long on a boy, the steak knives came out.

So it was no surprise that when he turned twelve, Tony hitched a bus to Tulsa and lifted just enough cash off of Obi to pay his way into a facility that would let him take his GEDs, and when he passed (of course), the SATs. Those too, he passed, and when college recruits caught wind of the twelve-year-old genius sitting around in the middle of Buttfuck Oklahoma, they came running.

Anywhere, was the culmination of the offers Tony was given. Anywhere you want to go, just say the word.

And despite the endless horizon and the wide sky of his hometown, Tony had never been free before. He’d been caged in on all sides, locked doors and threats and hopelessness keeping him from anything he’d wanted. So the idea of Anywhere… was quite a shock.

When Tony got his acceptance letter to MIT, he cried. Long heavy sobs in his room, the bookshelf shoved in front of the door so that is Obi heard, he wouldn’t be able to get in. MIT. Across the country. Ten states between him and Obi.

Anywhere, the world whispered, compensation for everything else. Make your choice.

Tony got on the next Greyhound to Massachusetts.

Faking the documents and emails were a breeze, and nobody questioned him too hard about where he was coming from, too fixed on where he was going. Tony never saw Obi again, managed to even win emancipation when he was sixteen without holding a formal court hearing. The bonds that had bound him to the earth were gone, and Tony was as free and flighty as a balloon, slipped off the wrist of a child to float in the winds.

He didn’t, of course, just fuck around. He worked harder than every other student there, because, despite the promise of Anywhere, Tony had to work. He was younger than everyone else, and he was there one hundred percent on the penny of the admissions office. And sure, he was smarter than everyone else too, but the cards had always been stacked against Tony.

Thankfully, he had a damn good poker face.

When he turned fourteen, Tony lost his virginity. She was nineteen and so intrigued by him for being so young and at an Ivy League.

He didn’t like it. At all. It felt wrong, and it made him feel sick.

He did it again.

And again, and again, and again, until he had a reputation.

Ironically enough, he stopped sleeping around on his sixteenth birthday, when he was finally officially of age (consent-wise, in Massachusetts, at least.)

That was the day he met Rhodey.

He was a soldier in the army, a colonel really, not just a grubby foot soldier. He was an MIT alum himself, back as an honorary lecturer for a few weeks about the American military, what made them successful, it’s history, the flaws within it.

He was also the one to drag a very intoxicated Tony out of a frat party, literally dragging him by the ear, grumbling the whole time, “future face of engineering my ass,” and “brightest student in a century, of fucking course.”

Rhodey had brought Tony to his apartment, and it hadn't occurred to Tony to protest. He’d shoved the student into the shower – a very cold shower – fully clothed to snap him out of his stupor, and then dried him off and sat him down on the couch, finally demanding why Tony decided to waste his precious brain cells on alcohol.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Rhodey was the first one to talk to Tony directly about sexuality and what it meant. He was the one who pushed Tony to study and engage, giving him the extra edge he needed to earn his three masters in one year. He didn’t judge, didn’t patronize. He just listened and encouraged and comforted him when Tony cried on his shoulder (which happened far too often, really.)

And Rhodey was the one who introduced Tony to his life-long friend, Pepper Stark, CEO of Stark Industries. Rhodey was the one who got Tony his dream job (of course, Tony had to do all the legwork, but who gave a damn when he was working for fucking SI.)

Rhodey cheered him on through his successes, pulled him up from the slums of his failures, rescued him found him in a cave in Afghanistan and brought him home, and stood by his side when Tony donned a red and gold suit and became the first superhero the world had seen since the forties.

Rhodey was the guy he called after he met Steve Grantson, and Rhodey was the one person who he trusted enough to tell that his boyfriend’s real name was Steven Rogers.

So yeah, Oklahoma had been hell, and Obi had been the resident devil, but it had built up to working at Stark Industries under the most brilliant businesswoman in the world, with his best friend only a phone call away at all times. And that was pretty good.

Of course, the past doesn’t fade, and sometimes Tony felt the phantom ache of fists against his ribcage. But now he has Rhodey and, more recently, Pepper. And they’ve assured him time and time again that whenever he wants to, he can call them, and they will always respond.

So, of course, after everything went down with SHIELD and Steve and the others and he’s then suddenly released with no explanation, they’re the ones he calls, and he spills everything.

“Bastard,” Pepper accuses perfunctorily, sounding as prim and organized as ever even though she’d spent the same amount of time in SHIELD holding cells and interrogation rooms as he had that day.

“He doesn’t deserve to get to watch you walk away, Tones,” Rhodey agrees, seething from half way across the world. He’s trying to get leave – he'd been trying since he heard both Pepper and Tony were taken in for questioning, but it’s not all that simple apparently.

“I don’t think there’s any crime on earth that should equivalent the punishment of not getting to watch my beautiful behind, honey-bear,” Tony says, chuckling despite the day's events and the heavy weight that hung on his shoulders.

“I knew I should have convinced you to dump his patriotic ass thee months ago,” Rhodey growls, ignoring Tony’s commentary.

“What happened to secret fanboy Rhodey who just about went into shock when he learned that not only Captain America was still alive, but dating his friend?” Tony teased. (He was well versed in pretending as though every act of protection and concern the two made for him didn’t have his heart soaring.)

“He realized he should have listened to the proverb about never meeting your heroes,” Rhodey grouched, and Tony would bet that he’d just crossed his arms in the typical momma bear stance. He couldn’t see for himself, though, as Rhodey had barely gotten the clearance to make the call, so they weren’t skyping. “Tones, you’re basically my little brother, and I’d jump in front of friendly fire before I let anyone hurt you. Even if they’re a World War II hero.”

Tony felt his heart melt a little of its icy casings. “Same goes from me to you, bro,” he responds.

“And me to the both of you, despite how exhausting you often are,” Pepper says, the familiar tone of fond exasperation in her voice. “Say the word, Tony, and all I will sick all of SI's lawyers on him.”

“Aw, Pep, I love you too,” Tony coos, smiling into the phone.

His phone beeps and Tony looks down. The notification is from JARVIS. The full AI is set up in his workshop at SI, but he’s got the system on his phone, computers, and ingrained in the building’s security systems.

Sir, Captain – though I hesitate to address him with such respect at this point – Rogers has entered the premises. He is most definitely headed your way.

“Speak of the devil,” Tony says as he reads it. “A big package of red, white, and blue just dropped on my doorstep.”

“Motherfucker,” Rhodey growls angrily, and Tony chuckles. “Brother, I’m a colonel – say the word and I’ll hop into that deathtrap spare suit of yours and be there in an hour. See if Captain America’s patriotic ass can stand up to your repulsars.”

“I have the head of the NYPD on speed dial, Tony, and none of the police force will know he’s Captain Rogers,” Peppers remarks, sounding like she’s already arranging plans for the SI lawyers. “The claims won’t stick when SHIELD gets involved, but we can hold him for twenty-four hours, and probably get a restraining order started. Whether or not it can be finalized is iffy, but it will certainly send a message.”

Tony laughed out loud, surprisingly delighted by his friends’ insane antics when it came to his protection. But under the joy, there was a much warmer feeling in his chest, and he felt that it had something to do with the cheesy smile on his lips. “Thanks, guys,” he said genuinely. “But I won’t need any of that.” He paused (what? Tony has never claimed against the rumor that he has a flair for dramatics) and then declared, “I’m going to let him in.”

Tony smiles all through their wild protests and keeps up until he lets a pitifully loitering Steve into his apartment. Tony feels like his heart is being pulled in two directions – still, he makes it clear to Steve that though he is not hated, they won’t just be starting over. And then he lets Steve sleep on the couch.

Tony can practically feel the aneurysm Rhodey would be having if he knew.

+++

The fight is unexpected but somehow exhilarating – well, they’ve always been exhilarating. Flying the air, freer than a bird, his teammates fighting around him, taking out the bad guys because he’s a hero, at least when he wears the suit. It’s always been an incomparable experience.

But somehow it’s more this time, because these people around him know who he is, they trust him even though they’ve seen his scars and they know who put them on his body. He’s not just Iron Man – he’s Tony Stanley, but even better than before, because now he’s not, ‘Tony Stanley, Steve’s boyfriend.’

Now he is 'Tony Stanley, Iron Man.'

And that’s pretty fucking great.

Tony doesn’t see the face of Steve’s attacker until he lands, but he hears Steve’s pained and confused gasps of “Bucky” (and what the hell is that about? Bucky? Like, the Bucky?) and when he’s sees the others face it isn't like his response is immediate. It’s a rugged, handsome, and kind of heartbreakingly empty face, but it’s not like a lightning bolt goes through him.

“Okay buddy,” he says, trying to sound soothing even though his entire body is a weapon right now, “how ‘bout you put down the gun and we all go out for ice cream and talk this over like reasonable adults?”

He can almost feel Steve’s want to shove him to the ground, but even the super-soldier wouldn’t be able to push him around in the Iron Man suit. Probably.

Tony is interrupted from the random mind tangent and calculations and super-soldier strength when the newcomer's mouth literally drops open, and all of that terrible blankness fades away and is replaced by shock and – hope?

“Toshka?” the stranger asks, and he sounds strangled.

“Who the hell is Toshka?” Tony asks bewildered, but he feels – it’s almost like an itch, in the back of his head. He knows the feeling. It always comes after the terrible nightmares that he can't quite remember, or when he thinks about those strange trips with Obi, or his youngest years. It’s the sign that reminds him that there’s something he’s forgotten, been made to forget, of white masks and scary doctors in lab coats and guns and pain and hunger and cold, god the cold-

“Actually, who the hell are you?” Tony asks, pulling himself out of his mind’s downward spiral. “’Cause let me tell you, I was not expecting to get attacked by yet another brainwashed Russian super-agent who has a fondness for skintight leather outfits, I mean really, just add in red hair and you basically Natasha, am I right?” he babbles, and his chest is going tight. “The attack, no really all that surprising, but the boy-Natasha, yeah that is, but maybe I’d be a little less unsettled if you could just drop the gun-”

The clatter of metal and plastic silences Tony as the man’s AK-47 hits the concrete. Steve whirls on Tony, confusion and shock all over his face.

Tony swallows hard. “Well, I can certainly say that that has never worked before,” he says, voice tight, and he doesn’t want to meet those familiar blue-grey eyes, because something tells him he doesn’t want to remember why they are familiar. “So I don’t suppose if I asked you to disarm all your other weapons-“

Perhaps predictably at that point, the man immediately un-holsters and drops three other guns, six knives, two grenades, and a few small vials of probably poison from his person, eyes fixed intently on Tony the whole time as though he is a lifeline.

“Bucky, what-” Steve starts, but Tony cuts him off.

“Tell me who you are,” he asks, words soft and closed off. “Please, just….” He swallowed hard. “Tell me your name.”

The man doesn’t answer until Tony finally makes himself meet his eyes. “James,” he says, voice rough from disuse and accented from travels across continents, and Tony feels his vision start to fracture, like the piece of tinted glass that has separated and distorted his view of the world has begun to crack. “My name is James. You… you named me James.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I meant to mention this a while back, but I forgot. The title of this story comes from the song "Anthem" by Leonard Cohen, who was part the of the group of celebrities who died in 2016. I loved his music and this song in particular, and I just wanted to say that.

When he was a kid, Tony used to have a recurring dream.

It was the same nightmare every time, and he had it almost every night.

_There had been pretty lights mounted on an extravagant chandelier. The floor was polished white and gold stone. He was wearing a suit, and it wasn’t comfortable, but Tony he wore it with a smile as all the ladies in beautiful sparkling dresses told him how charming he looked and the men all said he looked sharp._

_There was dancing and laughter and sweet, lilting music, coming from a stand of string instruments. Tony danced on the feet of his partners and swayed from his perch on their hips, too small to keep up with them._

_"Anthony!” a voice would cry, a beautiful voice, from a beautiful woman, but he couldn’t quite make out her face in the ground. “Come on, sweetheart, it’s time to go home!”_

_“Come on, son,” another voice answered, this one lower but still gentle, and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him away from his dance partner. Tony couldn’t see the man’s face either._

_"You danced beautifully, dear,” the woman said as the man swept him up as soon as they departed from the fancy ballroom._

_"Like a true gentleman,” the man asserted, and he giggled, snuggling into the coat of the man and hiding a yawn._

_"Oh baby, let's get you home and in bed,” the woman said, voice seeming to cradle his head with its softness._

_"Daddy and Mommy just have one last thing to attend to, so Mr. George and Rick are going to take you home, alright?”_

_"I promise we will wake you up and tuck you back in as soon as we get home, sweetheart,” the woman quickly assured when a distressed noise rose up in his throat. He was quelled quickly, not fighting as he was handed off from the man to a much more burly man in a much less flamboyant suit._

_"See he gets home safely,” the first man said, voice commanding. Then he smoothed back his hair and said gently, “I love you, Anthony. Do try and get some sleep before we’re home?”_

_"Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you too.”_

_He mumbled something back to them, smiling slightly, before he was carried out into the night and safely buckled into the backseat, two men in sharp suits on either side of him._

_He had begun to drift off when a loud bang and a sudden jerk in the car’s smooth driving jerked him back awake._

_The last thing he sees when George and Rick go still and their pressed shirts become sticky with red is a pair of grey-blue eyes._

Tony never knew who the couple was. He didn’t understand the dream – he was certain that the man was not Obi, so they weren’t his parents, but he doesn’t know who they could’ve been. He doesn’t know why he was dancing in a ballroom when he only reached the height of most of its other occupants’ thighs. He doesn’t know why those two men were shot.

But he does know those eyes.

They’re staring back at him right now.

“J-James,” Tony stutters. There’s a tremor in his voice and Steve’s head is bouncing back and forth between them like a ping-pong ball, eyes so wide and confused, and Tony doesn’t have _any_ space in his mind right now to think about Steve. He swallows hard. “James,” he repeats again, and the man with the metal arm nods eagerly, eyes searching Tony’s own, though he doesn’t make another move forward. “Okay…. Okay. Hi, James.”

“You are Toshka,” James says, and Steve seems to settle on the more unexplainable.

“Bucky – you know your name is Bucky, right?” he asks nervously, stepping in between James and Tony. “James Buchanan Barnes, but everyone always called you Bucky because you hated Buchanan and your dad went by James,” Steve babbled.

James ignored him for the most part, eyes fixed on Tony’s. “My name is James,” he rebuffed to Steve.

“No – you’re Bucky Barnes, you-” Steve’s voice breaks and Tony finally takes a moment to detach and realize how confused poor Steve must be. His usually straight shoulders seem to be turning in on themselves. “You were my best friend.”

James, too, seems to realize that he should start paying attention to the star-spangled man before him. “I’m James now,” he says after a long moment. “I don’t know who I was before.”

“What do you mean, you don’t-” Steve waves his hand through the air, the other ripping off his cowl. “Bucky, it’s _me_. Steve. Stevie Rogers, you’re _best friend_. We grew up together, we took care of each other, we fought Nazis together.”

James blinks at him. “I don’t remember,” he says.

Steve takes another step forward. “Hydra – Hydra must have got you,” he tells him urgently, hands twitching at his sides, shield discarded on the concrete under their feet. “We fought them – I thought we’d killed them all, but they must have gotten you.”

“I don’t remember,” James says slowly, glancing back at Tony whose chest still feels like it’s shaking open.

“You will,” Steve says, pulling his arms up and putting them on James’ shoulders. “I can-”

Without the Iron Man armor, Tony’s eyesight isn't good enough to track the blur of motion as James pins Steve to the ground. “Don’t touch me,” he growls, his metal arm holding Steve’s behind his back in such a hold them if the super-soldier tries to wiggle out of the grip, the bones will break. “Don’t _ever_.”

“James,” Tony squeaks, and immediately the anger is replaced by eagerness as James looks up at him. “Please – let him go,” Tony says weakly, feeling light-headed.

James swiftly climbs to his feet, going so far as to take a few steps away from Steve, and then he looks at Tony for further instructions. Steve slowly climbs back to his feet, grimacing when his soar arm moves. He looks to Tony in confusion, looking for an explanation, but all Tony can see is the now bleeding cut on his cheek.

James did that. Without a second thought. He hurt someone, Steve.

Tony makes an aborted motion to reach up and touch Steve, but he stops himself halfway there, arm hovering awkwardly for a second before it drops to his side.

Clearing his throat, Tony tries to ignore the look in Steve’s eyes as he turns back to James. “You can't hurt anyone,” he tells him, trying to sound authoritative but coming out as meek. “Okay?” he asks after a second.

James gives him a hard look before nodding. “Only if they are not trying to hurt you,” he says, and Tony is so, so confused.

“We need to go back to SHIELD,” Steve says. “Both of you,” he hastens to add when James glares at him. “You can ride together.” Steve looks almost pleased with the suggestion. “You’re going to be okay, Bucky,” he says earnestly.

“James,” the sergeant corrects, not even looking at Steve, but keeping his eyes fixed on where Natasha and Clint have appeared – and Tony has no idea how long the agents have been there – separated from the trio. “My name is James.”

Steve’s smile wobbles but his eyes still look hopeful. “You just have to remember,” he says, and Tony feels his heart let out a quiet sob. He wonders – if Bucky remembers, does he lose James? But who even _is_ James? He knows his eyes, knows that at some point his name was Toshka and that it was a terrible time, but that James was there, and he made it bearable. He can't remember anything else.

 He used to be Tony Stanley, an abused child from Middle-of-Nowhere, Oklahoma, who was smarter than everyone around him and so very alone. At one point he was even Antonia to a sweet couple who owned a little Italian restaurant that he is infatuated with. Before all of that, though, he was Toshka, a little boy swallowed up in a terrorist organization that was believed to have been destroyed in World War II, with the loving patriarch of a brainwashed assassin. And before that, he was Anthony Stark, son of doting parents and national celebrities Maria and Howard Stark, child genius in his own right, happy and healthy.

And now – now he has no idea who he is.


	27. That's How The Light Gets In.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Time for a long author's note of the sort that I never read, but I figured some people do, and I think I owe some form of an explanation). So this story started with a pretty set plan, then went completely off the rails, but I liked the careening train wreck that i had become, so I weathered on, and then lost almost all inspiration/motivation that I had for it. But I still think that both this story and you guys - however many of you are still around to read this finale - deserve an ending. It's not perfect, and I'm hoping that someday I find it again and make it a continuing series, but for now, this will be the end. I'm pretty happy with it for what it is, and I hope you guys don't hate it too much.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who put up with my bullshit update schedule and my "plot." Here goes nothing.

Natasha pulls Tony off to the side and its takes a combination of Steve’s manhandling and Tony’s pleading to get James – the Winter Soldier – Bucky – to climb into the van without him.

“Bruce called in,” Natasha says in a low voice when the other three are in the van. The armor on the truck will prevent even super-soldiers from being able to hear what they’re saying. “The DNA check came back, and-”

“And I’m… Anthony Stark,” Tony interrupts and is rewarded by the rare appearance of Natasha’s astonished expression. “I remembered,” he explains lamely, “a dream I used to have all the time as a kid. I remembered them.”

“Oh,” she says, shakily, after a moment, before straightening her shoulders. “Virginia – Pepper hasn’t been informed yet,” she tells him, and despite the stiffness she holds herself with, there’s a softness in her eyes. “I figured you’d want to tell her yourself.”

Tony nods gratefully, and Natasha lets go of his shoulder. “I don’t-” He breaks himself off, giving a quick shake of his head like there are cobwebs in his brain, and in a way there are, actually. “I never understood the dream,” he offers he helplessly instead of what he means to say, but her sympathetic eyes and quiet patience communicate understanding, and with all the people around him yelling and asking and apologizing, Tony is inexplicably glad for it. “I – you have to get that I fucking _hated_ Obi, okay? I wasn’t one of those abused kids who hid behind their bruises and tried to pretend that their parents still loved them – I knew Obi didn’t, and I guess I never really thought of him as my _dad_ , you know, but he was always my _father_. I didn’t – I can't believe that he isn't.”

The words spill out then, “Everybody in that fucking town knew what he was doing to me,” unbidden, unprepared, but they just pour out, “they were even more scared of him than I was,” and Tony realizes that this must be what the breaking of a dam is like, “and it’s not like I had any _friends_ , god forbid,” because he’s never talked about this with anyone, not really, “and the worst was when he’d lock me in the basement or – there was this big dresser he had,” certainly not Steve, for all he knew the super-soldier believed he had all of Tony’s past on file, “and he always wanted me to do these project – for Hydra, I guess,” and not even really Pepper or Rhodey, though he’s sure he told Rhodey the most, “but I couldn’t be smart anywhere else, or else he’d just get so _mad_ ,” but even then, it was never detailed, because details have such sharp edges and Tony has enough scars, thank you very much, “and I had nightmares all the fucking time but they were hardly ever of him,” and even as the words, as a decade – _decades,_ he reminds himself, _he was with Hydra for decades_ – pour out, he doesn’t know where they’re coming from, “of labs, and equipment, and screaming, always this fucking screaming in my head,” he’s remembering things he hasn’t thought of since he was still in the body of a four-year-old, “and James. I remembered James. Just sometimes, but… he was there.”

Tony takes a shuddering breath. “And I never told anyone.”

Natasha, now that he’s actually taking in sensory information again instead of just cascading through his waterfall of words, looks shocked, right down to the bone. “Why did you tell me,” she finally says, like a statement even though it’s a question, swallowing hard.

Tony meets her eyes and he finally understands why the first time he looked in her eyes and saw defenses built from the remains of a nightmarish past he had connected with her, with all of them. The Avengers, for all of their disastrous first meeting after he’d begun dating Steve, all unanimously came from bad places, bad pasts, which was something Tony had understood even then, even before Hydra and James and decades of lost memories. It was impossible not to feel connected to a group who’d undergone those same pains and come out the other side heroes. But Natasha especially, for some reason. He thinks he understands now – after all, the Red Room and Hydra aren’t too different, and they were both part of child initiate programs. Some part of him had recognized that in her, and that part had won over his rational brain and made him forgive her, and he didn’t regret that. Natasha was – not well adjusted really, but she knew how to work her way through life after everything she’d been through – and it had been a lot – and Tony respected the hell out of that. More than that, he’d looked at her as hope. She had a job. She had a purpose. She had a _family_. And she was just like him.

The only reason Natasha stumble back from the force of Tony’s hug is because she is a dignified super-agent and of all things, she does know how to keep her footing. It takes a moment, but she does raise her arms back, and they’re hugging, and _damn,_ if it isn't an awkward fucking hug,

“Because you understand,” he says simply, softly, so softly that if his face wasn’t pressed next to hers, she wouldn’t have heard him.

Nevertheless, Natasha must understand the intent behind what he says, because after only a moment, her arms raise and she’s hugging him back.

 === 

SHIELD is still in an uproar when they get back to base, but the agents part like the Red Sea for the Avengers – plus Tony and James. There’s furious whispering all around them because everyone knows SHIELD runs on coffee and rumors. Tony doesn’t know if it’s about him, or _Steve and him_ , or James, or the Winter Soldier attack that everyone’s surely heard about by now. He wonders if anyone’s put the pieces together about the strange similarities between the face of a known Hydra assassin and Captain America’s childhood best friend. It’s sometimes hard to gauge how fast things get around here.

They cross the main atrium of the building swiftly and Coulson meets them, striding brusquely across the floor.

“Sergeant Buchanan,” he greets, ignoring the rest of them for now. “If you would be so curious to follow me, I have a team of medical professionals standing by to do an examination.”

Tony hears James cut off a growl low in his throat and he quickly steps forward, one hand landing on the man’s shoulder with a familiarity he doesn’t really remember developing. “It’s okay,” he assures. “They won’t hurt you – I promise. They’re the good guys.”

He doesn’t need to say that this isn't Hydra – that’s been abundantly clear since the second they had walked in and no one blatantly leveled any guns on them.

“Go with them, okay?” he suggests when James does nothing and just looks back at them. “They’ll make sure you’re okay.”

James gives him a hard, searching look, before he nods. He looks towards Coulson and takes a step forward, away from Tony, before immediately glancing backwards.

Tony lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he says, and ignores the way the rest of his team is staring at him. He speaks to Coulson next. “Be careful,” he instructs. “Don’t touch the arm and don’t – don’t strap him into any chairs, okay? Or down in general.”

Coulson gives a curt nod and Tony can't make out the emotion behind his sunglasses. He begins to coax James away from Tony and Natasha and Clint followed after them, both agents looking back at the rest of their group at least once.

“Tony.”

Tony jumps a bit and turns, coming face-to-face with Bruce. He gives the other scientist a shaky smile and received one in turn.

“Pepper’s been calling,” he tells him softly. “She says she hasn’t been able to get a hold of you since yesterday, and with everything that’s been going on and what she’s seen on the television, she’s quite perplexed.” Bruce lays a firm hand on his shoulder, and his eyes are sympathetic and questioning. “You need to talk to her.”

“I’ll put it on my list, then,” Tony tells him with a sigh.

Bruce nods silently, not judging, before he pulls away slightly. “The tech lab is going to run some tests on – the Winter Soldier, I suppose, whoever else he may be.” Bruce rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I’m going to help them. Steve is probably waiting.” He pauses again, his eyes asking Tony a million questions. “Do you want me to take you to him?”

From the scientific perspective, it’s a pretty easy question with a simple answer – yes or no. You have a fifty percent chance of getting it right even on a complete guess. But…. Even before James – Bucky, the Winter Soldier, Sergeant Barnes, the Asset, _whatever_ – Tony hadn't known where he and Steve stood. Now….

Fucking hell, Tony feels like he might pass out from everything that’s happened in the past forty-eight hours. It’s fucking unreal.

He was revealed as Iron Man.

He and Steve broke up.

He and Steve… made up?

The Winter Soldier attacked New York.

James Buchanan Barnes came back from the dead.

Anthony Stark followed him.

James and Antoshka hid out in a Hydra bunker.

Obadiah Stane stole Antoshka and made him Tony Stanley.

James and Antoshka found each other.

Anthony is Antoshka is Tony.

Pepper is his sister.

James is his… something.

Steve is his…. Something.

If nothing else, Tony can now confidently say that the universe has a personal, aggressive, vendetta against him. He must be the star of its favorite telenovela.

Tony shakes his head. Now is not the time to be personifying the universe.

Bruce is still waiting for an answer.

_Well,_ Tony thinks, _I’ve lost enough opportunities – enough people, already._

“Yes,” Anthony Stark, Antoshka, Tony Stanley, says.

Bruce – good old Bruce, the good doctor, the incredible Hulk, Brucie-Bear – nods and smiles slightly, not telling Tony whether he thinks he made the right choice or not, just agreeing with the right to his own decision.

“Come along then,” he says, and starts off.

They don’t say anything as Bruce leads him down the halls towards the secure medical wings of SHIELD, the ones reserved for injured captives who need to be kept alive and some of the most volatile or dangerous agents.

Bruce pushes open a door and gestures Tony in. He nods a thank to his friend before ducking in, letting the door swing shut behind him as he stands in the almost empty lounge room. Almost.

Steven Rogers, Steve Grantson, Captain America, Stevie, sits on a dingy green couch with his head in his hands, and Tony thinks he’s been crying.

“Oh, Steve,” he says softly, and after a moment crosses the linoleum to sit across from his childhood hero.

Steve doesn’t look up and Tony doesn’t expect him to. Neither of them says anything.

They spend a very long time in the silence, the kind of silence that makes Tony itch but he keeps still and calm. Doesn’t even tap his fingers or pace, because he thinks they need this silence. It’s gets to nearing an hour and Tony is wondering how long the silence will linger when Steve throws the hammer to shatter it.

“What the fuck happened to my life?” he asks.

Tony laughs hollowly, suddenly feeling raw and weak in his chest, and drops his head into his hands. “Do you remember when our biggest problems were that you were older than me, and your friends were assholes and that I used to drink?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes. “Now there’s the fact that you’re seventy years dead best friend is apparently not dead and happened to play that part of my dad slash older brother for about a decade throughout all of which I was four when we were held captive together in a terrorist Nazi organization before my father who turns out not to be my father at all but a middle man for after mentioned Nazi organization took me away so that I wouldn’t be caught when his corporation – a business that he stole from my original father – fell to pieces, only to be then picked up by my boss who also happens to be my adopted younger sister who’s about twenty years older than me. But, you know… every couple has their own problems and all.”

There’s a silence during which Tony assumes that Steve is trying to process the enormous word vomit he just dropped.

Luckily – or maybe unluckily, because you never can really know once the moment has passed – Steve doesn’t have to come up with a combative answer, because just then is when Bruce opens up the door and pokes his head in.

“Guys?” he asks, as unobtrusively as he can. “You want an update?"

Tony looks to Steve but when the captain doesn't respond in any way except meeting his gaze, Tony sighs and turns back to Bruce. "Sure," he says, letting his head fall back against the edge of the armchair he's sitting in. "Lay it on us."

Bruce sidles into the room and stands between them, shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously, before he takes a deep breath and begins. “Those chemicals they found in your head, Tony – they’re matching up to the toxicology screens from the Winter Soldier’s. Which suggests factual evidence to you being held in the same facility by Hydra. And yes, Steve,” he continues before the blond can interrupt, “DNA matches. Somehow,” Bruce shakes his head and sighs, rubbing at his temples, “it’s a match for James Barnes.”

Steve falls into a chair and Tony kind of hates him for how relieved he looks. He shakes off the feeling.

“So – so Hydra got there hands on Bucky after he fell off the - the train,” Steve begins to piece together. “And they – what? Brainwashed him?”

“Yes,” Bruce agreed, scrolling through his tablet of documents, a frown line between his brows and his face pale from tiredness. “Or more specifically, using a combination of drugs and electroshock therapy to condition him into the figure we know as the Winter Soldier, Hydra’s attack dog, responsible for countless deaths – including one of the very founders of SHIELD, Howard Stark.”

“Pepper’s parents,” Tony says, rubbing one hand down his face, and he doesn’t say that they’re his parents as well. Bruce shoots him a look but Tony just gives him a minute shake of his head. He’s not ready to tell Steve. He thinks about the picture of the smiling couple Pepper still keeps on her desk and his childhood dream. He thinks of a desperate man with a metal arm and crying eyes. He tries to fit the two visions together but it’s like jamming two mismatched puzzle pieces against one another.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Steve quickly jumps in, launching himself out of his chair. “Not if he was conditioned like you said – none of that was his fault then.”

“Maybe not,” Bruce says elusively, and interrupts quickly when the super-soldier tries to angrily repute. “I’m not saying he’s to blame,” he says appeasingly, “I’m just pointing out that we are treading through a very large grey area right now.”

“But I know everyone’s thinking it,” Steve storms, raising his hands to pull at his hair. “That he’s some kind of monster – but he’s _not_. He’s _Bucky_.”

“I didn’t say that he was any kind of monster, Steve,” Bruce says softly. “You know I wouldn’t.”

Tony sighs and stands up. “I can't do this right now,” he declares and strides out of the room.

He doesn’t have a conscious plan, but apparently, his body does. He pins the first Junior Agent he finds against the wall and demands the young man produce him a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He figures he can afford to indulge in some unhealthy habits for now.

The agent scurries off and returns within a minute with the desired objects, and Tony doesn’t even care enough to question how SHIELD agents are always able to pull shit out of their asses, he just snatches the pack from the guy’s shaking hand and storms away.

He has, of course, studied the plans for the SHIELD HQ, but Tony takes a moment to marvel and his sub-consciousness’s memorization skills when he picks the lock of a door and shoves it open to find himself on the rooftop of one of the many non-conspicuous factory buildings on the edge of New York, New York.

He breathes in deeply, and then crosses the roof. He goes to the railing, facing the city proper and watching the sun set in a fire haze of orange and yellow and red, his own fire burning between his fingers as he smokes.

He hears the rusty hinges of the door creak open but down bother looking back.

Steve’s oh-so-familiar form sidles up beside him, and Tony tilts the cigarette in his direction in an offer that Steve does not immediately take him up on.

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Tony Takes it upon himself to ask the question that’s been burning him up from the inside out since this whole cluster fuck of a week started.

“What do we do?” he asks, eyes tracing over the outline that the Avenger’s Tower makes against the setting sun.

Steve lets a sharp breath slide out between his teeth before he finally takes the cigarette Tony is offering him. He takes a long drag from it. Tony watches him. Everybody smoked in the forties – expect for wheezing asthmatics – so Steve’s ease with the act is not entirely surprising. He hands back the fag to Tony and the younger man – still younger, but it’s even more complicated now than it was before, both of them being out of the right decade – and they go back to staring over the city-skyline, outlined by the blood-orange sunset and curling wisps of smoke.

The cigarette dies out, but Tony doesn’t take out a new one, just lets the ashy cig rest between his loose fingers.

“I don’t know,” Steve says, and he’s not breaking a silence – this is New York, after all, and there’s always cars and buses and people bustling about – but Tony feels almost like he’s broken down a wall perhaps. He doesn’t know what lies beyond it. “I have no idea where we go from here,” Steve continues, still not looking at Tony. “Maybe… or maybe not.” He sighs and leans forward against the metal railing. “I miss being just… us, you know?” he admits, looking down at the ground stories bellow. “Even if it wasn’t real, and you were Iron Man, and I was Captain America, and Bucky and every other fucking thing were just there lurking around the corner…. It was good. At least for a while. Right?”

Steve sounds almost desperate, and Tony pretends that his eyes are stinging from the smoke in the air. He studies Steve’s profile. “It was,” he confirms, and his throat is tight.”

“I don’t know,” Steve says again after a moment. “Maybe we’ll go back to that. Maybe we won’t. Bucky….” He swallows. “James…. Our deck is completely wildcards, Tones, and I couldn’t tell you how they’ll fall. Just….”

“Hope for the best?” Tony asks, turning so he’s facing towards Steve.

Steve looks back at him. “Hope it all works out,” he agrees.

“I think…. I’m going to stay up here for a few more hours, before I go back and deal with everything,” Tony tells him, and his heart is playing his ribs like xylophones.

“Mind if I join you?” Steve asks lightly.

Tony smiles.

Maybe if there were only one or two problems, they could’ve stayed up there for weeks. As it was, just about everything in their lives needed fixing.

But they could spare one night.


End file.
